


The Cool Guy Theory

by generallou



Series: The Detective's Theorem. (xingdae) [1]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Age Changes, Alternate Universe - Police, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Blink and you'll miss Chansoo, Chenhun Brotherly Love, Contains Inaccuracies Here & There, Corny Crime Cases, Corny Crime Solving, Detective, I'm so sorry, Implied Past Character Death, M/M, The First Case is Heavy, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Yixing is a good cop, minor chansoo, sleuths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-21 01:41:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20685401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/generallou/pseuds/generallou
Summary: Yixing learns there's so much more to Kim Jongdae than just him being extraordinarily smart (and a teeny tiny bit cocky.) But even then, he hasn't been able to grasp a full picture.





	1. Because… Inspector Zhang is super cool? (๑•́ωก̀๑)

**Author's Note:**

> This work was written for the Xingdae Fic Fest (Round 1) organized by Xingdae Café.  
Prompt: 19052
> 
> First time at a fest and I'm already going about panicking here and there TT TT Fault it to poor time management if you may.. Nevertheless, I really, really must thank everyone who's helped me with this fic through, and through; every bit of mental support that I've been given, I cherish it close to heart, only hoping that the mental support I return to them would even at least be, a fraction of what they've given me. 
> 
> \- Thank you so, so much to my beta, Mimi, for bearing with my poor scheduling and timing and correcting all of those unnecessary commas that I'm unable to help from adding everywhere. As well as for being my internal support pillar and letting me bounce ideas at her in my panicking-looking-for-better-ways-to-end-the-story stage.
> 
> \- Thank you as well to Mod K, our Cafe manager for allowing me so much extensions, and being patient with me. I'm so, so helplessly thankful for being so accommodating for my first fest participation.
> 
> \- To the prompter: So mayhaps, I have. you know. Deviated away from the prompt a little, hahaha, I'm so sorry;; The first time I saw your prompt, I was all 'Isn't this inspired by Conan or Ranpo??' and just took away with it. I hope I didn't destroy your prompt too much T T 
> 
> Again, thank you for everything, everyone! TT TT

It's never been fair, how fragile life is; Yixing thinks, as he goes over the scene laid in front of him with some sort of fucked-up sense of familiarity that he wished he didn't have. He remembers a sight like this one, feels waves from the past crashing over him; but it's not nostalgia, far from it, because Yixing doesn't want to experience his first time in a crime scene again. He landed his palm against the surface of a nearby chair to steady himself, before kneeling by the outline of the body, thinking back to the image of the blood soaked through the deceased’s shirt; a knife buried deep into his back, mind stuck on the pain frozen in the victim’s expression, cheek pressed harshly against the carpeted floor. 

Behind him, Sergeant Chanyeol is still, teary gaze fixed at the ceiling, and lips pursed into a thin line. Yixing narrows his eyes at the taller man; “Are you still scared, Yeol?”

“It’s scary, Inspector,” he sniffles, as the grip around his mini notebook tightens, “I’m sorry... I know I need to stop being a.” 

“Language,” Yixing hisses, taking a pair of rubber gloves out of his coat, stretching it down each of his hands. He walks around the chalk outline, head tilting curiously as he scans its’ immediate surroundings; “No signs of struggle… nor signs of forced entry… I didn't miss any broken windows or locks, did I?” 

Chanyeol rubs on his reddening nose, muffling over a quiet sob with his fist; “No, Inspector. The door w-was locked when Kim Juda and Ha Junmi arrived.”

“Locked, huh?” Yixing puckers his lips out, humming noncommittally as he murmurs a quiet apology before rummaging through the pockets of the man’s coat, which was hung neatly over the coat rack. He manages to fish out a dark wallet from its depths, along with a key tied to a Hawaiian keychain that falls with a resounding thud against the carpet. Yixing throws the wallet behind him, hands moving accordingly to a reflex he’s now more than used to; until, he realizes that it's no longer Junmyeon standing behind him, and that the wallet had hit Chanyeol square on the nose.

Yixing grumbles under his breath. When Junmyeon had been reassigned to a different district, of course, the only available assistant their precinct had for him just had to be Park Chanyeol. Said man is sniffling harder now, sniffles beginning to sound more and more like soft sobs, and Yixing feels guilt beginning to weigh heavy in his chest. _ Who the fuck let Park Chanyeol become a cop? _

“Chanyeol,” he calls out, walking over to the front door to test the key found from the victim’s pocket. It's a perfect fit, makes a clicking sound as it turns. “Why don't you go out and get me a bottle of juice? This room is _ really _warm, and I could use a cold drink.” 

“Juice?” Chanyeol murmurs, sending a questioning squint at his superior, “What kind of juice?”

“Uh, apple juice?” Yixing suggests, voice taking a more cheery note as he pushes the door back, holding it open by its’ knob. Chanyeol follows through reluctantly, taking the single first step out of the apartment door, blinking confusedly when Yixing snatches the deceased's wallet out of his hand. “I’ll pay you back later, yeah?” 

Before Chanyeol could splutter one more word out, Yixing has slammed the door closed. A guilty chuckle bubbling out past his lips when Chanyeol shouts out an affirmative from behind the door after a brief pause. He lets out a low sigh when he hears footsteps from outside fading away into the distance, whipping his head back up before approaching one of the officers scattered around the perimeter of the crime scene. 

“Are the deceased’s friends here? The two people who found him?” 

“Their statements are being taken at the station now, Inspector,” the officer notes with a polite smile. 

“Thank you,” Yixing remarks sincerely, “I’m going to head out for a bit, and if anyone's looking for me, tell them to wait, yeah? I’ll be checking the security cameras.”

“Where did Chanyeol go?” 

“Ah, don't mind him,” Yixing waves his hand dismissively. “He looked like he needed some air.” 

-

There were a few things Yixing could do without: A softhearted and fidgety sergeant, a nosy stepmother who’ll constantly push him to get a lover, and a locked room murder case without any witnesses. Much to his chagrin, he’s stuck with two out of the three things on his list, and now comes the long-awaited moment where he’s finally stumbled upon the third. He clenches his jaw as he watches the played footage intently. 

The forensic officers have declared the time of death to be just a little over two hours ago; cause of death being loss of blood. The victim was found about half an hour after his death when Juda and Junmi had come knocking with bags of lunches and drinks for their friend, the now-deceased Jungwoo, of whom, according to their given statements, is now _ a shell of what he used to be. _

“Used to be a cheerful guy, they said,” Yixing murmurs under his breath, audible only to himself, “A bright guy who’s now seemingly miserable, came over to cheer him up.”

_Timestamp, 07:34am_. Juda whips out a key from his own pocket, unlocks the door open; drops his plastic bag, comes running into the unit, and out of sight from the corridor CCTV. Juda had mentioned to owning the only spare key to Jungwoo’s apartment. The story checks out, but it also means that he’s the likeliest suspect. 

_Timestamp, 07:35am_. Junmi’s own bags fall as well, palms raised to cover her mouth as she takes two frightened steps away from the door until her back meets the wall. 

Yixing rewinds the tapes.

_Timestamp, 06:05am_. No one.

_Timestamp, 06:10am._ No one.

“Along this hallway is Kim Jungwoo’s unit, right?” Yixing asks the security guard, the timestamp now at 07:10am. The guard nodded his affirmative. 

Yixing doesn't quite think that this is how it's supposed to be. He swallows the lump in his throat, brows furrowing in irritation, goes over what he knows in his head once again.

Victim is found, laying on his stomach, right in the middle of the living space with a knife punched through his back. Front door locked when Juda and Junmi had arrived, no windows open nor glasses broken, not a single sign of forced entry, or struggling that has occurred. Yixing chews on his lower lip. Whoever had been the murderer must have been welcomed into the unit, someone that the victim was acquainted to, or had it been someone posing as a plumber... whatever profession that would allow them entry into the house. 

_ Not that it would make sense; A plumber wouldn't come knocking that early, would they? _Yixing nudges his temple with a single knuckle, letting out a frustrated hiss. 

“Would it be okay if I bring these tapes?” Yixing asks, fingers buried through his own locks. A loud ringtone resounds through the tiny space before the guard can answer, and Yixing coughs into his fist with a courteous apology as he whips his phone out, sliding his thumb across the screen to answer the call.

“Zhang speaking.”

_ “Inspector, I brought your apple juice! Where are you?” _ A deep voice greets. Yixing’s starting to feel a little numb at the sound of his voice. 

“I’m at the security guard’s office,” he replies, holds back the sigh he had nearly let slip, “I already told someone to tell anyone looking for me that I’d be here.”

_ “What? Oh, right… I didn't exactly ask anyone, well...” _ Chanyeol trails off, before a loud yelp resounds through the phone, and then Yixing hears him on the phone again, mumbling something incoherent.

“Chanyeol? What happened?”

_ “Ah, shit…” _ The latter groans, _ “Fucking hurts…” _

Yixing backs his screen away from his ear just in time for a burst of loud, hearty laughter to be heard through the phone, and then, an exclamation from an unfamiliar voice; _ “Language, Chanyeollie!” _

_ “Go away, I’m talking to my--Jongdae, stop shaking me! My superior is on the other side of the phone!” _

“Uhm, yeah,” Yixing says lamely, “I’m… Inspector Zhang. Did you bring a friend along, Chanyeol?”

_ “No!” “Yes, hi, Inspector! I’m Jongdae!” _

Yixing’s brows raise curiously; It doesn't feel like an unfamiliar name. He purses his lips into a thin line, nose scrunching as he racks his head for where he’s heard this person’s name from, elbow propped against the security’s desk as he rests his chin against his fist. “Right, hello… Jongdae. Are you two at the crime scene now?” 

The sergeant lets out a disapproving groan while Jongdae cheers with an affirmative. Yixing shakes his head, “I’m sorry, Jongdae, but I’ll have to politely ask you to leave. You're not authorized personnel, and the crime scene is off-limits to--”

_ “Even if I’ve solved the crime?” _

Yixing pinches the bridge of his nose wearily, “Yes, even if you’ve--wait. What?”

_ “Don't you want to hear what I have to say, Inspector?” _ Jongdae purrs, _ “Heard you guys were having a hard time with this, which is a surprise, I might add? This case is elementary.” _

He hears Chanyeol’s protests in the background, as well as Jongdae sneering as Chanyeol’s voice continue to fade further and further away into nothing but a dull sound from afar. Just how far away did Jongdae run? Yixing puckers his lips out, hastily getting back onto his feet, turning to the security guard that's been nothing but helpful to him a deep, and thankful bow before stalking off hurriedly towards the exit. He thumbs over his screen almost clumsily in his haste, though ultimately succeeding in clicking the red icon to end the call. 

This crime, _ solved _ . Yixing rubs at his nape, head venturing through the possibilities. Is there a secret passage in the unit, of which, the culprit had used to enter and escape through without going noticed? Or perhaps, the security guard was an accomplice, and hadn’t exactly been showing him the footage he needed? _ He was such a kind old man though… _

He probably should have fucking checked the footage on the day before as well; The murderer could have been let into the unit and is now in hiding somewhere in the apartment. Though by then, _ surely, _ the culprit would have somehow already found time to escape; Plus, their unit _ had _ gone through the whole place. There couldn't have been areas that they had missed, could there? _ Could there? _

_ What the fuck was he missing? _

Yixing runs his digits through his hair, taking large strides back through the corridor when a palm lands on his shoulder from behind just as he’s about to take the corner turn, yanks him away from the route of his own steps. Yixing’s eyes widen, but he doesn't let the shock last, feet quickly bucking into position, and hands in place, preparing to throw whoever this _ disrupting fucker _is over his shoulder when his movement is blocked by a leg tangling around his own from behind.

The Inspector narrows his eyes confusedly, because… _ that's kind of unique? _

“Don't throw me!” The stranger hisses with urgency, in a whispered voice. Yixing turns towards the offender and meets a pouty frown that Yixing almost makes the mistake of calling _ cute _ before he manages to catch himself. Yixing scans the man from head to toe, gaze unintentionally lingering at certain parts from his high, prominent cheekbones to the quirky edges of the man’s pursed lips, warm feline eyes looking back at him with a sharp look from beneath an _ ugly _ pair of _ red, _thick-rimmed glasses. His locks are messy, ruffled above his eyebrows. Before Yixing could say another word, the stranger shakes his head, forefinger held close against his lips as he lets out a harsh shushing sound. 

From beyond the corridor, Yixing hears a loud, frustrated sigh. “For fucks’ sake, why did that fucker have to kill himself! God!” 

_ Huh? _

“You took his suicide note, right?” The same voice says, and Yixing’s expression hardens. 

“Yeah,” a woman says this time, “I hid it under the printer, next to my handbag… Just came back to take it after saying that I’d forgotten about my handbag from all the chaos.”

“Smart,” he comments in response, and Yixing finally recognizes the voice to belong to Kim Juda; one of the two people who first found Jungwoo’s body. “Let's head out now and burn the damn note.”

The woman, or rather, Ha Junmi, now that Yixing has fit her into a profile, only hums; “What about the case? What's going to happen to it? You sure it won’t come back to get us?”

Juda does no more than scoff; “We have our alibis at his time of death, and I’ve been overhearing that the police are racking their brains crazy for this case. Think it might go cold. We’re getting out of this unscathed.”

Yixing turns to the stranger next to him when he feels a nudge against his elbow and is met with a cocky grin, and he isn't too sure what to think of it besides the fact that it screams _ 'I told you so’ _for no apparent reason. “You should do your thing, Inspector Zhang,” he says.

Something then clicks; “Are you Jongdae?” 

Jongdae waves Chanyeol’s Samsung (or at least, Yixing thinks it's Chanyeol’s if the dark, _ Muse _ merchandise phone strap is anything to go by) in his hand cheerfully, the corners of his lips curling upwards further into an arrogant, kittenish grin; “The one and only.”

Yixing almost lets slip an indignant sound until he hears footsteps approaching, the dumbfounded expression Jongdae had elicited from him quickly stowed away with the rest of his honest and sincere confusion to be replaced with a hardened, iron facade; The kind of vibe that an audience expects from a character of _ NCIS. _ Yixing thinks it's comical, but not completely untrue. Not every officer needs to be intimidating, and Sgt. Chanyeol is living proof, but it's helpful in most areas, and _ certainly _ helpful when Yixing is forced to be the _ only _figure of authority standing in between two key people of interest and their escape route. 

Juda and Junmi’s footsteps suddenly paused and tracks completely halted completely at the sight of the Police Inspector that they had previously met, though only briefly. Said person cocks an eyebrow up at them, and Jongdae whistles at his _ cool policeman _ demeanor. _ For fucks’ sake. _“I think I’d like to take a look at the note as well,” he says. 

“This isn't what you think it is,” Juda immediately says. 

“Then prove it to me. Show me the note,” Yixing deadpans, eyes averted towards the woman, “The note, Ha Junmi.”

In her hands, the grip around the paper tightens, resounding with a soft, but audible scrunch as her expression darkens further. “I-It’s nothing. It's really personal stuff, I can't…”

“You guys probably didn't notice, but Jungwoo had a tiny video camera hidden in between his books in the bookshelf of his, the one that was full of geeky books? Yeah, that one?” Jongdae says suddenly, and Yixing tries his hardest to not let his surprise show.

_ The victim did? _

“And I saw what you two did. _ We _all did. Jungwoo wasn't found like how he was positioned when we arrived. He’d been on his back, with a melting block of ice underneath him, wasn't he? You guys were the ones who flipped him onto his stomach.” 

_ With a what? _

Their expressions take a visible downward turn, and it's an obvious statement to Yixing; Jongdae is spot-on.

“Just how rotten do you guys have to be to hide your own friend’s death will to save your own asses?” Jongdae remarks, hints of venom dripping in his voice. “Hand over the fucking note _ now _.”

So maybe Jongdae turned out to be a little more than just some youngster in an oversized tracksuit with a pair of terrible looking glasses to match. Juda eyes both of them with an ominous look, and Yixing wonders whatever else the fuck would he be left to contemplate about now, whereas Junmi is all too ready to give up in the face of authority (and being caught red-handed.)

“Fuck,” Juda hisses, harsh and low, as his shoulders slump, “Fine, _ bitch _. Fine.”

Behind him, Jongdae muffles a snort.

-

“Inspector, please don't get mad at me,” Chanyeol sobs, chewing at his lower lip pitifully, “I swear, I just met him outside of the apartment! He was here to fetch his little brother from the babysitter who lives on the third floor, and we were reunited high school friends, so I--”

Yixing lets out a long sigh, holding his palm out to the taller, “Look, Chanyeol. I’m not mad at you. Please.”

_ But I will be if you keep on irritating me. _

“Promise?” Chanyeol pleads for reassurance.

“Promise,” and internally, Yixing pleads for patience. Speaking of promises; “Jongdae didn't run off, did he? He promised he’d tell me more about how Jungwoo died after he went to fetch his little brother.” 

As if on cue, Yixing hears a familiar voice resounding in an offended gasp from behind him as two pairs of footsteps approach their circle. Yixing twists the cap of his bottle of apple juice open, taking a long chug of the contents of the bottle before letting out a subtle, refreshed sigh. _ Mental preparation. _

“I would never run off!” Jongdae remarks. 

“Dae hyung would never!” A child exclaims after him. 

“How could you assume such a thing?” Yixing finally turns to see the same, cocky bastard he'd met earlier, face wearing an unnecessarily dramatic mask of shock, fist curled against his chest. The shock quickly morphs into something more akin to a dejected pout upon meeting the Inspector’s unimpressed expression. 

The boy next to him looks seven, Yixing thinks, far smaller; his features are sharp and boyish, and a lot less cat-like compared to Jongdae. “How dare you!” He shouts as well, fingers gripping around Jongdae’s hand ever so tighter.

Jongdae raises his glasses higher above the bridge of its’ nose by its rim, the corners of his lips curled upwards into a teasing grin; “I’m sorry if I took longer than I should. Still up to listen to a non-authorized personnel’s deduction?”

Yixing shrugs, “I need all the help I can get.”

The latter juts his lips out, “Aren’t you even a little ashamed that you need some random guy’s help to solve this?” 

The child tugs on his brother’s hand, “But Dae hyung, you're not a random guy, you’re a famous detective!”

“A famous detective, huh?” Yixing cocks an eyebrow at him. 

“He has always been very gifted at making deductions,” Chanyeol points out, “I heard some officers from other teams have been making calls to a really gifted detective whenever they're in a slump… That couldn't possibly be you, is it, Dae?” 

Jongdae sends the taller man a toothy, proud grin, “I _ do _ solve cases in exchange for food and video games.”

“Does that mean we have to give our payment as well?” Chanyeol questions cautiously, and Yixing wished he’d have at least neglect to ask that. 

Jongdae’s about to open his mouth, lips already in the midst of parting when Yixing cuts in, effectively disrupting Jongdae from letting out a single word about claiming his payment; “Look, alright. Please go back to Jungwoo, our case in hand. Chanyeol, take notes.”

Chanyeol sputters out an answer, hands immediately scrambling about his coat to search before whipping out his notebook from a pocket. Jongdae chuckles before sending Yixing a knowing smirk that the man catches from the corner of his eyes before turning to the young boy, a palm coming to rest over his head; “Sehun-ah, I’m sorry, but you can't listen to this one.”

The child -- _ Sehun _ \-- furrows his eyebrows, “Not this one?”

His brother shakes his head, and when Yixing finally shifts a little more in his seat to observe the man better, he sees an unlikely soft smile over the face he’d initially begun to associate with arrogance and cockiness. “No, not this one,” he gently answers, “You understand, don't you?”

Sehun’s expression dims visibly, but he nods; “Do I wait outside?” 

Jongdae ruffles his hair, “Yep! Hyung will get you ice-cream after this as promised, yeah? Wait out with the police brothers and sisters, okay? And don't wander off.” 

The young boy stalks off towards the front door obediently, and Jongdae’s fond smile remains even when Sehun turns back several times before he exits, just to glare at him in contempt. In his fascination, Yixing doesn't realize how intently he’s been observing the two brothers; blinking as he is snapped out of his stupor by the sound of someone clearing their throat. 

“Oh,” Jongdae raises an eyebrow at the sound that Yixing makes, “Right. I’m listening. From what I remember, you said something about him being on his back, with a… block of ice underneath? And that Jungwoo kept a cam somewhere?”

His sergeant lets out a confused sound; “He did?”

Jongdae nods, smiles sheepishly; “I made that up, so we could save some time.” 

Yixing sends him a quizzical look. It's not all that unheard of; Yixing hasn't had to deal with anything _ too _ demanding in his past five years being an inspector, hasn't had to take the role of a bad cop yet, but it's a known manipulation tactic even if he _ hasn't _ had to use it yet. However, interrogators are usually a lot more vague and ambiguous with their words, whereas Jongdae’s had been the exact opposite, and Yixing thinks it speaks volume to certain things.

_ Just how confident was he in his deduction? _

“There was a tiny indent on the floor next to where the victim was found, and I’m pretty sure that's where the bottom of the knife was initially placed onto,” Jongdae starts, “The block of ice was to hold the knife steady and firm in position, just right for him to fall back against.”

Chanyeol winces as he notes down every detail, but neither of the two misses the way his eyes have already begun to water. Yixing rests the side of his face to his palm, elbow propped against his fist. He sighs to himself as his eyes glaze over the ceiling. “Is that why it's so warm here? So the block would melt before anyone found him?” 

“I have a feeling that those two were the ones who increased the temperature,” Jongdae says, “They probably realized that he killed himself because of them before they discovered his suicide note or the woman wouldn't have had to pull off the 'I left my handbag at the crime scene’ stunt.”

Yixing’s lips part, “They were the reason?”

The young man shrugs, hands shoved into his pockets. “The forgotten handbag was fishy. I had a read of the suicide note. Those two…” Jongdae trails off, biting at the inside of his cheek, and Yixing’s mind goes back to the venom that had resounded in his voice when they’d encountered Junmi and Juda earlier. “Junmi had a baby with Jungwoo, drunken accident. Juda had anger issues,” he seethes, “Two weeks into being born, the baby girl was drowned, out of anger and jealousy. No one told him until Juda had drunkenly _ laughed _ about it a week ago, bragging about how he had connections in the hospital, _ and _ enough money to do _ whatever _ he wanted.”

Chanyeol has stopped writing for a while now, and Yixing forces himself to swallow the lump in his throat. As if on cue, one of Yixing’s officers approaches their group, a look of dismay on his face as he hands the confiscated note back to his superior; “We’re done with the note.” 

Yixing looks up to him with a sullen nod, accepting the paper with a murmur of his thanks. He unfolds the note, merely scheming through the contents; though even so, the words still ring continuously throughout his head, heart aching in his chest as he registers every sentence and every dried teardrop on the soft paper. He almost doesn't realize his own tears making several new wet spots over the writings. Jungwoo’s handwriting worsens further down the page, curves and lines going sloppier with every new word.

_ 'I don't know how I’m supposed to deal with this. No one would listen no matter what I said or did.’ _ The letter reads. _ ‘It hurts too much _ . _ ’ _

“That _ son of a bitch _,” Yixing fumes, “Arrest him. For murder, and bribery. And find out whoever he paid in the hospital. We’ll get them too.”

  


-

It's half an hour past midnight. Yixing drags his feet through the corridor, holding onto the towel wrapped tight around his bare waist before pushing his bedroom door open with a weary sigh. Though the mystery of the locked room _ suicide _ had been resolved within the day itself, whatever action following it had taken a grueling few days of Yixing’s time. Even if the sheer amount of his workload hadn't been too surprising to say the least (it had been Yixing’s own call to get another department involved, after all), it still doesn't change the fact that a _ lot of _ workload remains as nothing _ but _ workload, unless done and completed. 

He notices his cat sitting perched by his window, her body pressed close against the windowpane, and reaches a hand out to pet the top of her head; “_ Mao _, you're not asleep yet?”

Mao only stares at him, looking somewhat distant and blank before nuzzling into his palm. Yixing imagines that she’s asking him why wasn't _ he _ asleep yet. He shakes his head as he sits down onto his bed, and the sheets around him wets with tiny spots of water. A gentle huff slips past his tiers, a little smile of his own forming at his lips when his phone vibrates next to him.

_ 'Unknown (12:34am);_

_ do not be alarmed! chanyeol gave me your id when i asked him for it.’ _

Yixing furrows his brows, swiping his lockscreen unlocked. 

'Who are you?’

_ 'Unknown (12:34am);_

_ your one and only… saviour.’ _

How Yixing manages to hear Jongdae’s voice in a message labeled from an _ Unknown _ sender, he doesn't know; But if his instincts had gone by _ something _ to come to that conclusion, Yixing doesn't doubt that it must be the arrogance exuding from the text. 

'I doubt Chanyeol would have Jesus Christ’s ID.’

He receives an odd response as a reply. Yixing squints at his screen in his attempt to decipher whatever the hell Jongdae just sent. 

_ 'Unknown (12:35am);_

_ Σ(*ﾟдﾟﾉ)ﾉ !!!! _

_ so literal….’ _

Yixing rolls his eyes, and saves the man's contact before typing a reply; 'Enough games, Kim Jongdae. Why are you texting me at this hour?”

_ 'why are you up so late?’ _

'It’s not that late.’

_ 'so it's perfectly okay to text you at this hour then, right?’ _

_ Sheesh. _

'How can I help you?’

_ 'treat me to dinner, payment for helping you :3’ _

Yixing scoffs; 'You serious?’

_ 'yessir! no exceptions, sorry!’ _

He leaves Jongdae on read for a while, forehead scrunched in contemplation when Mao rubs her head against the back of his palm. Mao’s meows have always been shy, gentle, and almost inaudible, but against the silence, it's the only sound louder than Yixing’s thoughts. His phone vibrates in his hand, announcing a new message from Jongdae.

_ 'inspector!!!’ _

'Isn’t Chanyeol your friend? Why don't you ask from him instead?’ 

This time, Yixing doesn't receive an immediate response; though the missing _ 1 _by his message box indicates that it's been read. He fell back against his sheets, sinking into the softness of his bed with a content sigh, eyelids growing increasingly heavy by the seconds when he feels a tiny weight resting on his bare chest. Yixing raises his head slightly, only to be met with Mao looking back at him, her feline eyes wide and unblinking as she taps her paw over his chest.

Yixing’s lips round into an 'O’ in realization, having completely forgotten the fact that he’s been half-naked for at least fifteen minutes now. He huffs out a breathy groan as he pushes himself off of the bed before shuffling towards his wardrobe. 

Behind him, his phone vibrates with a new message from Jongdae. 

_ ‘because… inspector zhang is super cool? (๑•́ωก̀๑)’ _

‘Stubborn brat,’ Yixing sends once he’s settled back in the sheets after having worn his boxers, 'Wednesday, 6PM. Place to be confirmed.’ 

_ 'this wednesday??! the day after tomorrow??!!!’ _

'No, next Wednesday lol.’


	2. Yixing is really attractive. Yixing is... really attractive.

Yixing clicks on the doorbell several times, his incessant grumbling not at all going unnoticed by the mother and daughter who walk past behind him. The gigantic teddy bear in his arms is eye-catching, coupled with a red bow right over its’ neck, and Yixing thinks he hears the daughter giggling and whispering _ God knows what _to her mother. 

_ Oh, for fucks’ sake. _

For a brief second, he wonders if the doorbell has malfunctioned, but he thinks back to the messages his sister had sent him and remembers that she _ had _ specifically told him to just ring the bell to let them know he’s arrived. The curse of second thoughts; Yixing regrets having ever said _ yes _to the invitation. There's only so many hours in his workdays where he’s allowed a break, and here he is, ready to waste a couple of those hours in the evening for a child’s sixth birthday party. Then again, maybe it is a good thing that he’ll get to see his nephew again after a long while. 

The door doesn't open, and it remains so for the next ten minutes. Yixing huffs, steadying the bottom of the stuffed bear on top of his lap before whipping his phone out to call his sister when a shout from a distance catches him off guard. 

“Inspector Zhang!” A kittenish smile greets him. “What are you doing here?”

_ Oh, hell. _

Jongdae comes running to him, and Yixing isn't sure if he’s imagining the excited skip in his steps. “Did you decide to move our date today? You’ll have to wait for me to change though, I don't exactly look very flattering now, I know,” he says, a little lilt to his tone that Yixing nearly mistakes as sheepish shyness. “Is that teddy bear for me?!” 

Yixing winces, “Uh, no, I’m here for my nephew’s birthday party.” 

“Eh, nephew, huh?” Jongdae puckers his lips out, before raising an eyebrow, “But as far as I know, this unit belongs to a Kim Heechul. Step-sibling?” 

The inspector widens his eyes. “K-Kim? Heechul?” He splutters. He doesn't remember his sister having a second name, and his brother-in-law is a Kyeong. He swipes his screen unlocked, going over the chat with his sister and scrolls up to the address she had provided. 

_ Unit 15A, _

_ 3rd Floor, Block 2, _

_ Nam-Pooh Apartments. _

“Which block is this?” 

The corners of Jongdae’s lips are tugged upwards into a fond, but cheeky little smile; “Block 3.”

Yixing lowers his head, teeth gritted as he lets slip a drawled out cuss, making a harsh sound as he exhales through his teeth. “Jesus Christ,” he sighs. 

“You’re headed to Block 2, right? I can walk you there,” Jongdae beams, “It’s Zhang Xin Yie, isn't it? Your sister. She and I are cooking class buddies,” he brags, bumping his chest with a tiny fist. “She invited me to Jiashuai’s birthday too.”

“Cooking class buddies,” Yixing snorts under his breath, raising his head back up. He shoves his phone into his pocket and walks back in the direction he came from. “You know Chanyeol, you know a lot of other officers, _ and _ you know my sister too. Who else do you know, huh?”

Jongdae shrugs, following closely behind him, “Police Superintendent Yoo is my dad’s close friend.”

Yixing nearly chokes on his spit. “Is your dad a cop?” 

“Nah, that's Sehun’s dad. My dad was a surgeon,” Jongdae says, looking rather solemn as he speaks. 

The older man blinks curiously, raising an eyebrow at how Jongdae mentions his and Sehun’s dad in a separate sentence. Were their fathers together? Or had one of them been adopted into the other’s family? Yixing doesn't know how personal of a question it would feel, and he isn't comfortable with looking like a nosy person either. Next to him, and slightly behind, Jongdae is still fairly quiet. His fingers are intertwined together behind him, eyes unblinking, as if in deep thought. 

_ Then again, _ Yixing thinks, _ maybe it wouldn't hurt to ask, right? _

“Hey, Jongdae--”

“Mister, help!” A cry interrupts him. When he looks upfront, he doesn't expect a child to come barrelling right into him, little fists clutching fiercely onto his shirt. “Please help,” he cries, “Two bad people came into my house and threatened to kill my mom and I!”

Instinctively, Yixing tugs the boy closer to him, “Bad people? Are they in your house now? How do they look--”

“Kim Jongin!”

The boy shakes his head feverishly and tightens his grip on Yixing’s shirt, “It’s _ them _, please help me.”

To Yixing’s surprise, the person that comes approaching them after the call is a prim, and young woman, possibly in her late 20s to early 30s; and she’s the very definition of elegance in her airy, floral dress, motherly concern etched all over her soft features. Her lips are pursed into a thin line, “Please don't trouble other people and make us worry! Your father and I are very mad at you.” 

“You’re not my mom!” The boy screams, hiding his face in Yixing’s thighs.

A man appears from behind the woman, and he’s just as neat and pleasant-looking as her, and Yixing can't help but think what a beautiful couple they make. Even so, the man is more stern-looking, gazing at the boy with a sharp look, arms crossed over his white button-up; “I’m so sorry. We were planning to head out, but he didn't want to get into the shower. I probably went overboard with scolding him.”

“No!” Young Jongin shouts, “He’s lying. Please believe me, Mister. I don't know where they have my mom, but please, please don't let me go to them.”

“Jongin, I’m your biological mom… I literally gave birth to you, please don't say such a thing,” the woman says.

“And you have my good looks,” the man comments, “Hey, Jongin. Dad’s really sorry, okay? Look, I promise I’ll get you some toys tonight as an apology. What was the toy you want? The helicopter?”

Jongin whimpers, tears wetting at the fabric of Yixing’s pants. Yixing bites at the insides of his cheek; It's not like he hasn't heard his fair share of his friend's children going overboard with their lies and pranks, and even involving strangers into their mischief. He’s heard of worst, even, but it still doesn't help when Yixing’s trying to figure out who’s lying and who’s _ really _in danger. He wonders if Jongdae knows since he appears to be familiar with the tenants of the apartment, but he still hasn't said a word, and Yixing doesn't know what could he possibly be waiting for. 

“You’ve got a really naughty boy, buddy,” Jongdae says, and Yixing sighs in relief, though Jongin continues to murmur denials. _ Does that mean Jongdae recognized their family? _ “I haven't seen you guys around though. New tenants? Which unit are you from?” _ Wait, what? _

The man narrows his eyes on him, “Yeah, we just moved in recently. We're from... 17B.” 

Jongdae nods, “Oh yeah, the previous Kim family did move out the other day. Funny. They weren't here for long, like, barely two weeks? I didn't even get to send them my greetings.”

“The _ previous _… Kim family?” She repeats in question.

“That's right,” Jongdae chuckles, before making a show of rolling his sleeves up to check his watch, “Well, what do you know! It's time for me to buy groceries!” Yixing sends him a funny look. Jongdae pretends not to notice. “Don't be too rough with your kid, yeah? Take your time!” 

“And Yixing hyung,” he whispers, and he wonders why on earth Jongdae’s suddenly dropped his title until he hears his question, “What do you think about ten seventy-three?”

_ 1073? _

_ What’s a… 1073... _

Yixing knows he _ knows _ this, whatever it is supposed to be if the way it’s making his head ache with nostalgia says anything. From the back of his mind, Yixing starts to hear the sound of officers exchanging codes over the police radio comm; voices muffled and distorted amidst the frequencies, short beeps at the end of every message received. The gears in his head turn; and Yixing finally answers, “I think 1059 will go well with it.”

_ Malicious mischief. _

Surprisingly, Jongdae shakes his head, “1066 would go better.”

  


_ Suspicious person. _

“You think so too now, don't you?” Jongdae giggled cheekily, “I’ll text you later. See you, hyung.”

The two strangers eye their exchange suspiciously, and Jongdae smiles at Yixing’s silence. The younger pats his back before he walked past the couple, if they're even a real couple anyways, before eventually disappearing off by the corridor. The woman shook her head dismissively before returning her focus to her supposed son; “Jongin, this is the last warning. You're holding the mister back. Can't you see how busy he looks?”

Yixing holds onto the boy’s shoulder before lowering himself until he’s crouched over the floor, teddy bear stuffed in between his thighs and chest. “No, no, don't worry about it, ma’am. Maybe I can help,” he suggests, “Jongin, listen to me closely, yeah?”

“You're a good boy, aren't you, buddy? You listen to your mommy well, don't you?” 

“But she's not my--”

“A-ah,” Yixing smiles, a forefinger brought up in between them, “That's not what I asked. I asked you if you listen to your mommy well.”

Jongin’s eyes are still as teary as ever, fingers unleaving from being curled into Yixing’s shirt. “Yes. N-Nini does,” he hiccups.

“Then you have to listen to hyung too, okay?” He ruffles the boy’s hair and a hint of a relieved smile appears on Jongin’s face when he whispers a little _ secret _ to him. “Hyung will save you and your mommy, alright?” 

  
  


-

  
  


Yixing is really attractive, and Jongdae’s mind travels further and further away from the electronics catalogue in his hands. Yixing is really, _ really _ attractive. He grumbles, thinks back to how proper the inspector still manages to appear; in spite of his white button-up being untucked from his dress pants, and the visible creases on his coat. In contrast to Yixing’s work attire, Jongdae had been anything _ but _proper; sporting a mere rock band tee, and a pair of black track pants. He’d been returning to his unit after having taken out the trash, so he supposes he can't really blame himself either.

_ But still. _

Jongdae pouts to himself, setting the catalogue back down. He’s searched nearly the entire unit of 17B clean, aside from the master bedroom, and _ though, admittingly, he had been distracted _, he’d still succeeded in coming to several conclusions. He hopes there aren't anymore locks to pick; he feels guilty enough. 

One, the couple had posed as salesmen to gain entry into the house, bringing along the electronics catalogue that Jongdae had just gone through that bore the same brand as the one on the business card found abandoned on the coffee table. 

Two, Jongin’s mother might still be somewhere in the unit, and had already been hidden by the time Jongin ran out of the house. 

_ Smart boy. _

Jongdae casts a quick glance to the master bedroom before making his way towards the door. He pushes the door open, slow and cautious, once he’s turned the knob. He meets what he had hope would greet him.

There’s a young woman, presumably in her early 30s, arms taped together behind her, ankles tied to the legs of her chair; and she looks onto Jongdae tearfully, making sounds of surprise and panic. Jongdae approaches her carefully, both hands raised, and a disarming smile on his face; and with a polite shush, he undoes her binds, and helps her stand from her seat. Her panic-stricken face turns to one of relief, before shifting once more into a dark, fearful look.

“It’s -- the two. The salesmen, I shouldn't have, I shouldn't have d-done that,” she mumbles, almost incoherently, all under a single, shaky breath. “Nini! Nini, I heard him scream just now. Oh my god, please, please tell me he’s okay, I don't know,” the woman cries. 

“Your son is alright, ma’am,” Jongdae reassures, letting her lean against his frame, “He managed to escape when they came into his room, and he ran into my friend and I. I’m going to call the police now, alright? But before that, we’ll head to my unit where it's safer, okay?”

She shakes her head, protests, “But Jongin’s still out there! And how do I know I can trust you?”

“Jongin is safe,” he smiles, “He’s with my friend, who’s a Police Inspector, and I know my friend won't let the bad guys lay a single finger on him. You can take your phone with you, send someone a picture of me, so if anything bad happens to you, they’ll know who to look for.”

Her lips are still quivering, fingers trembling as she nearly falls back against Jongdae’s chest. With her thumb, she wipes at the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes before giving Jongdae a firm nod, lips pursed into a thin line, and Jongdae recognizes it as determination. “All right, thank you. Thank you so much, Mister…?” 

“Just call me Jongdae, Mrs. Kim,” he remarks cheekily, “Also, you look a lot like Jongin.”

  
  


-

  
  


The man scratches at his elbow anxiously, shoes tapping at the floor in a restless manner, and though it annoys Yixing, he wonders if it's a sign of the man’s _ parent facade _ cracking. Jongin’s no longer tugging at his shirt as tightly, now having some form of newfound confidence in the man he’d crushed into, and Yixing thinks it's for the best. Taking two people down shouldn't be too hard, as long as Jongin knows to get out of the way. 

“Hey, honey,” the man calls out to his partner, “Why don't you go back home first? I think I accidentally left the door unlocked earlier.” 

Yixing tries not to let his gladness show.

She nods, turning to Jongin with a stern glare, “You better listen to your father, young man.” 

Jongin doesn't say a word, only glares at her back as he wraps his arms around Yixing’s neck. The supposed father lets out a gruff sound, and Yixing thinks about the desperation in his look, careful to hold onto Jongin more firmly when the man wrapped his fingers around one of Jongin’s upper arms and tugs hard. “No more of this, Kim Jongin!” He roars, “I will have you know that there will be _ consequences _ to your misbehaving! Your _ mom _is waiting for you, back at home, no?”

The boy freezes in Yixing’s arms at his words. Yixing sighs; where's Jongdae’s signal? As if on cue, his phone vibrates in his pocket. 

“Hold on, Jongin,” Yixing says, keeping an arm around Jongin, his other hand taking his phone out of his pocket. He doesn't open the message, but what the notification on his lock screen says is clear, and simple enough. 

_ ‘Jongdae (07:42pm): _

_ 10-26’ _

_ Clear. _

The offender sighs, grabbing at Jongin’s arm with more force; “Jongin, can't you see how busy hyung is? Let go.”

“No,” Yixing says, “You let go of him, sir.” 

His eye twitches; “Excuse me?” 

In a swift move, Yixing sends Jongin back behind him, stalking towards the man before grabbing at his arm, hurling him over his shoulder only to slam him down against the hard ground; both his arms tugged harshly behind him right after, wrists locked together under Yixing’s tight hold, rendered incapacitated with a knee rested against his hip. “I, uh, don't know what exactly is going on, but,” he lets out a sheepish laughter, “The guy just now is really good at making deductions and he thinks you guys are suspicious, and that little Jongin is telling the truth.” 

“The guy just now?” He groans, “But I’m telling the truth! He hasn't even met our family, who the hell does he think he is! And let _ me _go, who the fuck do you think you are!” 

The man continues struggling underneath Yixing’s hold, grumbling audibly, letting out a series of expletives until he hears the sound of metal clicking behind him, feeling cold steel around his wrists. 

“I don't want to show my police authority now, but uh, I’m Inspector Zhang, from the Yongsan’s First Division, Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency,” Yixing introduces himself, sending a wink as Jongin’s face brightens at the mention of his title and occupation. “But don't worry, you won't be facing me when you get to the police station,” he remarks, the face of a certain Inspector Do coming to mind, “Unless you’re found to have done _ shit _ in my area.”

  
  


-

  
  


Jongdae smiles to himself; Jongin talks animatedly, putting his hands into use as he tells his father about how cool Yixing hyung was when he threw the bad guy over his shoulder, and how mommy was saved by the other smart hyung. Jongin’s father listens, hints of fondness and relief in his little smile, and Jongdae’s heart aches at the teary twinkle in the corner of his eye. It isn't long before Jongin is engulfed into an embrace, arms wrapped tight and secure around his small frame. From this distance, Jongdae can't clearly hear what exactly he’s telling his son, and it's not like he intends on doing so anyway, though he still can't help but wonder what's being said.

_ 'I’m so glad you're alright.’ _

_ 'Are you hurt anywhere?’ _

_ 'I’m so sorry I wasn't there.’ _

There's a loud screech of his name from behind, and a tiny figure rushes into Jongdae’s space, purposefully crashing into him. Jongdae laughs before letting out a long whine, turning in his spot to face the young, little offender. Sehun grins cheekily, “Did I catch you off guard?”

“No,” Jongdae teases. He cups at the younger’s face, letting out a fond, gentle huff when he notices bits of cream stuck at the side of Sehun’s mouth. “Did you have fun at Jiashuai’s?”

Sehun scrunches his nose in playful dismay. “Liar,” he comments quietly, and Jongdae giggles to himself. “And yeah, Jiashuai had an Avengers’ birthday cake, with Ironman on top! It was chocolate.” 

“You didn't forget to give him his present, did you?” 

“'Course not,” Sehun sniffles, about to say something more when a figure from behind Jongdae catches his eye; “Hey, that's the policeman from the other day!” He points out, eyes widening comically when he sees another couple of police officers in the distance, standing by the entrance of one of the many units. “There’re other policemen…?” 

The 'policeman from the other day' approaches them with an amused look. “So you were invited to my nephew’s birthday party, courtesy of my sister, but didn't go?” 

Jongdae coughs into his fist, “I was busy. So, what happened to the couple?” 

“Busy,” Yixing snorts, “And they're being handled by my friend. I don't have any power here, it's the Tenth Precinct's Area. They're both frauds, and the tenant who was here before Jongin’s family had threatened to sue them.”

“So they mistook Jongin and his mom to be the previous tenant’s family?” Jongdae questions, but he nods to himself even before Yixing can confirm for him. “Ah, it probably didn't help that since the Kims just moved in, they didn't have any family photos framed up yet anywhere. Otherwise, the frauds would’ve noticed they had the wrong guy.”

Sehun furrows his eyebrows at the mention of Jongin’s name. It sounds familiar. 

“They would… Yeah,” Yixing agrees, crossing his arms over his chest before plunging into deep thought at a sudden realization; “By the way, how did you… figured out that Jongin was telling the truth?” 

Jongdae untangles Sehun’s arms from his waist, but intertwines their fingers together instead; “You mean when the couple tried to convince us into believing that they were his parents?” He beams when Yixing nods. “It was the eyelids! Jongin had double eyelids, whereas the other two had mono.”

Yixing tilts his head confusedly; “That… isn't supposed to happen?” 

The younger man lets out a delighted hum, “Double eyelids are dominant phenotypes. It wouldn't make sense if both his parents, who have the recessive single eyelids trait, bore a child with double. It would be easier to understand with a table…” 

Sehun, of course, does not know what to make of this; though he does keep a mental note to research it over the internet once he gets home. Yixing tries not to look too impressed, but he tells Jongdae how smart he is anyways, and it has the smaller man keening to his praise. “What do you… work as, Jongdae? I haven't got the chance to ask,” Yixing says, “You don't happen to work in the Police Force, do you? You seem really familiarized with… us.” 

“Familiarized?” Jongdae laughs, and Yixing thinks, _ yes, that's the exact word. _ From what he’d heard about the way he handled himself in the crime scene from the officers present during Jungwoo’s case, the way Jongdae knew to coerce Juda into confessing, and giving up the evidence to him. To the way Jongdae had used radio codes, knowing him enough to understand that Yixing would _ understand _the context of the codes. “I do read, and remember a lot, but no. I teach Biology at Yongsan High,” he grins. 

“A teacher,” Yixing mumbles. _ A teacher. _ “That… explains a lot…” He trails off because truthfully, it doesn't. Or maybe, it does, and teachers nowadays are just supposed to be this _ fucking _ good. Scary. There's a sleazy little smirk on Jongdae’s face, and Yixing can't tell if he’s being played with. 

“I probably should get going now… Maybe apologize to my sister,” he says before he shudders at the image of his angered _ Jie. _

Jongdae smiles and Yixing can't read a thing; “Do you need me to lead you on your way out~?”

Yixing shakes his head, “That wouldn't be necessa--”

“Hyungs, my mommy took out the avocado smoothie from the fridge and told me to give them to both of you two!!” Jongin shouts, rushing towards them from his unit, both hands occupied with a glass full of the green beverage each. 

“Jongin, you shouldn't run,” Jongdae remarks.

Sehun widens his eyes in recognition, “Nini?!” 

“Hunnie?” The boy blinks, and in his surprise, he takes a step too fast, causing an imbalance in his posture. The glasses of smoothie slip from his hold, bare fingers grasping at nothing but air as the liquid seems to flow out of its containers in slow motion. Jongin’s knees land onto the tiled floor with a light thump, impact somewhat lessened when Yixing catches the boy in his arms on time. He barely hears Jongdae’s warning shout from behind, his voice resounding through the space as seemingly nothing more than background noise; but Jongdae can’t blame him, not when the ultimate end is inevitable, and certainly not when Yixing’s got bits of his hair and a large portion of his upper body doused in sticky avocado smoothie.

Jongin’s eyes begin to water, “H-hyung.” 

“Oh god,” Yixing sighs, but he smiles down at Jongin anyway, “It's okay, Jongin. Please don't cry.”

_ Fuck. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just in case it wasn't made clear enough, the numbers they were exchanging were radio codes used in communications between patrol cars! ^o^ i took it off of a website but i'm not sure how much of it is used in SK as well....


	3. Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t get your emails at all! Hee-hee, oops!

“Ah, Officer,” Jongdae sings as he rummages through the wardrobe for a spare shirt that Yixing might be able to wear, a kittenish grin stretching the corner of his lips wide and playful when Yixing walks in, “Hope you had a well and warm shower?”

Yixing sighs, more so to himself, the tips of his digits buried in the soft towel draped over his head. “Thank you so much, Jongdae,” he whispers, and it’s the sincerest that he’s heard of himself within the past couple of draining weeks. There’s a sudden pause in movements to his front, completely unexpected, and Yixing looks up only to see Jongdae frozen at his spot, eyes widening as his cheeks redden into a pretty pink. Yixing tilts his head to the side, “You’ve gone awfully red.”

“Oh, this? Ha! Well,” Jongdae stammers. Yixing blinks confusedly, unsure what to make of it; he’d never seen Jongdae to ever be the person who’d stammer. Kim Jongdae: confident, suave, and intelligent. Kim Jongdae, full of surprises. Yixing smiles, because perhaps  _ that’s just exactly what it is.  _ The younger male rubs at his nape sheepishly, “It’s  _ nothing _ ! I just… suddenly remembered an embarrassing story, you know? Hah.”

The officer lets out a quiet snort, “I wouldn’t mind hearing about that. I heard things about you from my colleagues, that you’re this Mr. Cool Guy with the good eye.”

The red on Jongdae’s cheeks deepen. Yixing raises a brow, “Don’t take well to being complimented?”

All and nothing, but a tiny, inaudible mumble from Jongdae’s end. Yixing isn’t even any particularly sure whether or not he’s even said anything. Jongdae settles the folded clothes that he’s picked up onto the bedside, lips pursed into a thin smile, and Yixing can’t tell whether he’s trying to hold himself back from bursting into tears or laughter. Could it be both? Maybe he’ll never know. “Tell me if those don’t fit. But they should,” Jongdae nods, mostly only to himself, “I usually buy two sizes bigger, so… it should.”

Somehow, it isn’t as hard to imagine. He sees it clearer when he notices how the ends of Jongdae’s tee goes further beyond his waist. Yixing feels oddly endeared. “Thank you again,” he chortles, reaching out for the clothes, “And for not telling my  _ Jie  _ I’m here.”

-

_ _

_ _

Sehun eyes him strangely from across the dining table, elbows propped against the surface, little hands holding his mini-tablet. He pulls an earbud out of one ear, studying his seemingly miserable hyung from his seat. “Dae hyung, are you okay?”

Jongdae lets his head hang in between his arms, an ominous smile playing at his lips. It’s awfully hard to get the image out of his mind now; Yixing being half-naked had been hard enough, and Jongdae couldn’t tell whether it’d been a blessing or a curse that he was able to catch a little more than a glimpse of… He shakes his head fervently before face planting onto the surface of the table, impacts resounding with a loud thud as his forehead hits the wooden material. Sehun winces.

“Sehun-ah,” the older murmurs.

“Yes?”

“Maybe hyung might head to the gym tomorrow,” he mumbles.

The younger boy furrows his eyebrows. “Hyung, you hate exercising,” Sehun points out, “And you especially hate the nearest gym available.”

A small breathy sound escapes his lips, and he raises his head upwards to send his little brother a narrow-eyed gaze. “Since when did you get so smart at talking, huh? I feel like it was only last year when I was changing your diapers.”

Sehun flushes beet red at that, nose wrinkling as he sends his most menacing glare at the older. “I told you to stop saying that! No one wants to hear things like that from people who’ve actually changed their diapers themselves…” He coughs, willing himself to avert his attention back onto the video flashing on his tablet screen. Jongdae continues to stare at him, chin resting over the surface of the table, eyes going lidded in his dull observing.

“What are you watching, Hun-ah?” Jongdae asks, monotonously.

“News,” Sehun answers, in a mocking imitation of Jongdae’s tone as well as his lidded gaze. Jongdae extends an arm across the table to knock at the younger boy’s forehead with his knuckles, though Sehun avoids the hit swiftly in time; far too used to his hyung’s ways. He grins cheekily in his victory. “A university lab was bombed earlier today, and they’re saying that there’s evidence that it was done by an extremist group called—”

“Hey, thanks for the shirt. You’re a real—” Yixing pauses when he realizes he’s cut in into someone’s words, taking a couple of steps back out of the space he walked into with both his palms raised in apology. “Did I interrupt an important discussion?”

Zhang Yixing now sports a casual black tee, the clothes that Jongdae chose, having been a perfect fit on the man’s slightly bigger stature; and there’s such an interesting contrast between this person and the Officer Zhang whom he’d first met. There was the man who dressed neat and smart, the Yixing whose eyes were forever reading yours, constantly out to study for the slightest mistake in your words that can be used against or for you. This person, supposedly also Zhang Yixing, fits so seamlessly into the colors of Jongdae’s house (or most likely anyone’s house, for the matter), with his hair down, falling lightly over the top of his eyebrows, still dripping bits of water droplets from his shower, dressed in nothing but a simple anime-graphic tee coupled with a pair of loose track pants.

Jongdae isn’t too sure what exactly he’s concluded from this.  _ That he likes having Yixing in his house?  _ It doesn’t sound too far off but Jongdae knows; it’s something more specific. The fact that Yixing just happens to be his type— _ kinda _ —maybe a teeny tiny bit distracting.

Yixing sends him a questioning smile. Jongdae still hasn’t answered him. Sehun eyes the two of them with a suspicious look. “No, Mr. Policeman! You weren’t interrupting anything, don’t worry,” he explains, turning to the officer with a toothy grin, “Just waiting for the pizza to get here.”

“You guys ordered pizza, huh?” Yixing laughs, gaze flickering over to a still-silent Jongdae. “Thank you again for the shirt, Jongdae-ah. I’ll return it to you washed… As for now, I should be headed home.”

“Mister, you’re not going to stay and eat pizza with us? Hyung ordered the largest box!”

The officer smiles lightly, crossing his arms over his chest in some sort of pretense of consideration. Sehun looks up to him hopefully from where he’s seated. “Let’s see, I had you and your hyung kept me being here a secret from my sister…” Yixing trails off, lips puckering out, “And I used your shower and had to borrow your body wash and shampoo…” Sehun’s expression dims visibly, and the older man only smiles in apology while reaching a palm out to the young boy’s head. “I’m even borrowing your hyung’s shirt right now. I think I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

Jongdae fiddles with the ends of his fingers, “I don’t mind.”

A small burst of laughter rings through the room. Yixing shakes his head, a smile still quirking at the corners of his lips as he grabs at the bag containing his stained clothes, already making his way towards the front entrance. “I mind. Plus, I still owe you, don’t I, detective?” He cocks an eyebrow.

_ Handsome bastard. _

_ _

Sehun pouts, though he waves anyway, chin propped against the surface of his table. Jongdae walks towards the entrance, standing alongside Yixing to hold the door open. His lips are pursed into some sort of firm determination, eyebrows creased in a newfound boldness (though subtle.) “Last chance to change your mind,” Jongdae teases with a cheeky grin. There are still hints of red at his cheeks from earlier and Yixing begins to wonder if it’s the heat.

“Can’t have my  _ Jie  _ noticing my car parked around here,” Yixing waves him off with a friendly dismissal, tapping the ends of each shoe against the tiled floor. “I’m going now, Jongdae. See you around, Sehun.”

-

Yixing plants the side of his face against his desk unceremoniously, forcing his eyes shut as he wills away the suffocating nausea pressing at his throat. Chanyeol watches from his own desk where the concern in his eyes wave back at Yixing when their gazes meet.

“Inspector, are you—”

“Don’t drink caffeine on an empty stomach, Chanyeol-ah,” Yixing advises, internally swimming in his own regret. “Want to know what happens when you do?”

“You… did that last week too. Ended up like this too. As well as the week before.”

_ Huh.  _ Yixing looks on blankly.  _ He’s right. _ He needs a reminder, placed somewhere visible. A spot that always comes to mind, that  _ always  _ comes to sight. There aren’t quite as many places that Yixing pays attention to in his daily life, and admittingly, it’s not a good habit for an officer of his rank. The little details, the ones that are a lot more important than they let on. Discreetly, Yixing pumps a fist under his desk. He shall never look at the coffee machine again.

He slumps his forehead against the base of his palms, breathing in deeply to elevate the giddiness. Something’s still rising from his throat, and Yixing feels its’ force strongly. From his seat, he thinks he sees Chanyeol attempting to have his attention and sees his mouth shaping to form words that he isn’t too sure about having heard.

_ How strong was the fucking coffee? _

_ I’m going to puke. _

_ _

“The superintendent...,” he hears Chanyeol says, “... to check your emails…”

His expression twists into a frown. Chanyeol notices quickly.

“Wha—”

“I said you should take a break, Inspector!” Chanyeol says with a goofy little smile. He’s a little relieved that Chanyeol’s decided not to reiterate; especially if it means he could pretend that there aren’t any emails from his superior for a little while longer. He’s got it imagined in his head;  _ “Hey Zhang, I thought I told you to—” “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t get your emails at all! Hee-hee, oops!”  _ It’s an appropriate excuse.

He plants his palms on top of the surface of his table as he stands up from his seat in one swift movement, sending Chanyeol a small agreeing nod as he lets out a quiet sigh. “I’m not really that tired but,” he mumbles, straightening his clothes, “Maybe I’ll have a restroom break.”

Yixing probably isn’t fooling anyone.

Chanyeol waves him off as the inspector exits the office, his own attention returning to his monitor. Yixing lets himself lean back against the closed door behind him, taking a couple of deep breaths in his attempt to not let his nausea get the best of him; it appears to be working as far as he’s concerned, since he hasn’t exactly been vomiting his guts out,  _ yet _ . He hears footsteps approaching and for a moment, his breath hitches warily—hoping whoever it is, could do him a favour to not ask him how’s he doing (as if it isn’t already obvious enough) and simply walk past him. The steps are lighter than the usual taps he hears that are constantly echoing through the hallway, though he barely notices this until the steps stopped right in front of him. Head down, Yixing comes face to face with a pair of little white shoes.

“Inspector Zhang?” A lilted voice exclaims. Yixing looks up, and he doesn’t need to raise his head any much further to see the bright smile greeting him on boyish features.

“Sehun…?” It takes him a little longer to notice the stuffed bear in Sehun’s arms, and for a moment, he’s forced to wonder over its’ familiarity. “That’s for my nephew…”

_ Oh. Yes, I did neglect to bring it with me last night, didn’t I?  _ He hadn’t even realized.

“We noticed,” Sehun giggles sheepishly, “Dae hyung actually told me to give it to Jiashuai at school for you but I wanted to take the chance to see you!”

“I…”  _ Kid or break. Kid or break. Kid or break. Kid or break.  _ “I mean… how can I help—”

The boy holds out his palm in front of him; “But before that, you really look like you need to wash your face, Inspector!”

Yixing’s eyes widen ever so slightly, and Sehun’s got a comical frown on his face. He holds the teddy further away from Yixing before huffing out a deep sigh, “Have you been working all day, Inspector? You look terrible. Even Dae hyung takes care of himself better than this and he’s a whole klutz!”

Somehow, that draws a smile over his expression. Internally, he thinks back to Jongdae; sets aside his supremely accurate deduction skills and cheeky arrogance, and recalls instead the flustered flush on Jongdae’s cheeks as he stammered from embarrassment. It’s endearing, he thinks,  _ it’s really endearing _ , and Yixing finds his posture going a lot laxer against the door behind him at the thought. One of the few things he does when he’s touched by a wholesome video of kittens playing with their mother. “He’s a klutz, huh?” He chuckles. “You take care of him then?”

Strangely, Yixing doesn’t feel so nauseous anymore.

-

“Dad would probably get mad if he,” Sehun cuts himself off as he takes another large bite from the large donut, “finds out that I’ve eaten my third colourful donut of the week.”

Yixing only snorts, looking into the scene in front of him with his chin propped up to his lower palm, elbow supported against his thigh; “You could’ve told me that earlier before I bought you one.”

Sehun turns to him with a boyish grin, bits and crumbs of bread stuck all around his lips, the tips of his little fingers pressing down on the brown bread.  _ Youth is fun _ , Yixing thinks. “Are both of your dads still together?” He finally asks.

_ “Is your dad a cop?” “No, that’s Sehun’s dad. My dad was a surgeon.” _

_ _

_ Wait.  _ Yixing feels like he’s just realized something he’d missed earlier.  _ ‘Was a surgeon’? _

_ _

The young boy’s gaze blanks at the mention, blinking once—twice as he does what Yixing assumes to be registering his words. “Hyung doesn’t have his dad around anymore,” Sehun puckers his lips out, knitting his brows together as he shifts into some sort of thinking stance that Yixing secretly assumes is being imitated from some cartoon. “Hyung lost his dad before I was born, and then my dad became his new dad,” he smiles.

_ Jongdae was adopted by Sehun’s dad.  _ Yixing’s breath hitches at the revelation, and maybe, just maybe—it’s somewhat odd because Yixing had been expecting this outcome. But now that he’s arrived at this conclusion, whatever he’s just come across suddenly feels a little too personal for him to be intruding into. Sehun wouldn’t have known whether or not it was alright to reveal something as such, and Jongdae might not be alright with someone he just met knowing  _ this _ part of them.

Yixing tries not to let the sigh slip past his slips, leaning his back against the backrest of the bench. Maybe it’s not his place just yet, to know more. Yixing fears of knowing too much, especially where he shouldn’t. “I hope he didn’t have it too hard then,” Yixing says, “Losing someone… The thought of it is scary.”

Sehun takes another bite of his donut. It’s the very last bite, and from the way Sehun pouts, Yixing can tell that he’s a little disappointed. “Hyung was sad for quite a while. He would lock himself in his room for hours before coming out for dinner with us,” Sehun recalls, fingers fiddling with the tissues in his hand, “But apparently, Dae hyung got a lot bolder and more confident with his deductions after he got over it.”

It makes sense.

He stuffs the rolled-up ball of tissue into his pocket and returns the bear onto his lap, a quiet little laughter bubbling out of his lungs as his eyes turn into crescents in a teasing smile. Yixing observes fondly. “Though personally…” Sehun's grin is awfully sheepish as he squeezes at the ends of the stuffed bear's hands, “I think he’s been kind of distracted recently. He hasn’t been very cool lately.”

Yixing tilts his head in question, “Was he cooler before?”

Sehun nods with a little pout, “He was! A lot of my friends started having a crush on him from the time when he caught the guy who stole my friend’s cat! That was how cool he was.” Quietly, Yixing lets out a little snort. “I have a  _ deduction _ as to why!”

Somewhere amidst Sehun’s deduction, Yixing feels his phone vibrating inside his pocket. Fishing his phone out, he finds a message displayed over his screen from Jongdae, and a little smile creeps up his lips when the message reads out to be an inquiry for a certain missing brother  _ ('Sehun's with you, isn't he? What's he doing there?') _ Unconsciously, a small chuckle slips past his tiers, one brow raised in amusement.

Beside him, the young boy scrunches his nose. "Were you even listening, Inspector?"

The inspector hadn’t been listening, still isn't-- but he hums as if he has been. Somehow, Sehun is satisfied with that. Yixing types in a reply to Jongdae as Sehun delves further into his theory.  _ 'How'd you know?' _

_ 'he's been sleep-talking about sneaking off to meet you all night XD' _

_ 'so, what's he doing there?' _

Yixing sends the boy a brief glance, watching him gesture animatedly to tell his story. How often does Jongdae see this? The memory of Jongdae sending Sehun away to reveal the truth during their first case together comes to mind, and Yixing thinks he can understand why Jongdae appears to be thorough with protecting his little brother's innocence. Does the sun shine bright for Jongdae wherever Sehun is smiling?  _ 'He's telling me about why he thinks you haven't been yourself lately.' _

_ _

_ 'what' _

_ 'He thinks you've been distracted lately. He has a theory as to why you may be feeling so.' _

The number beside Yixing's text disappears immediately after it sends; an indication that Jongdae’s read his message, and yet, his lightning replies have suddenly come to a halt. Another couple of a dozen seconds pass, and there's still silence from Jongdae's side; Yixing isn't even sure if he's still online considering that Jongdae's the type of person to be extremely fast with his replies. Something else is off, he thinks. His and Jongdae's chat room isn't the only quiet place.

He hears Sehun clear his throat next to him, and  _ ah, it clicks _ . Yixing raises his head and turns to Sehun with an apologetic smile, but the glare that Sehun sends back to him likely suggests that his misguided attentiveness isn't going to be forgiven or shrugged off as easily as it had been.

"Ah, sorry... I was..." Yixing trails off unsurely, "Where were we?"

-

_ Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god. _

Jongdae whines through gritted teeth, pitchy and loud enough that it alerts 90% of the people in the vicinity, curious eyes now eyeing him strangely from every possible direction. He lets out an exhausted sigh after a couple of pants, palms planted onto his kneecaps as he recalls the whole journey from his home. Taking it into perspective, he thinks he should've called a taxi instead. He knits his brows at the realization, a low grumble released under his breath as he dwells in the fact that he'd worn himself out for nothing.

_ Why _ , why hadn't he thought before running off? Jongdae knocks at his own head before taking his phone out of his pocket to read over the last received message from Yixing. He begins to feel another frustrated groan surging from within, though this time, he holds himself from letting it out.

_ Would Sehun really have caught onto such a thing? _ Jongdae is at least, half- confident, that he's been,  _ at the very least _ , somewhat subtle, about his crush to the inspector. Yixing just happens to be eye candy, nothing more. Eye candy with a sweet smile, who just so happens to be a sincere person with a strong sense of justice and responsibility. Who just so happens to be his type. But Sehun couldn't have possibly seen right through him, could he?

Jongdae sighs quietly as he stuffs his hands into his pockets, walking quietly behind a group of female students in hopes that they wouldn't recognize him. Would Sehun actually really be talking about how oh, so secretly attracted he is to Yixing? Does Yixing even like men? Jongdae's not too sure if he’d ever be ready enough for  _ that _ conversation.

A yelp resounds from some distance behind him, and Jongdae has to blink twice before he's knocked down onto the concrete floor by the heavy figure that zooms past him. For a second or so, Jongdae feels the dizziness clouding his head disoriented, expression scrunched as he sets his own head straight. He's alerted by a couple of barks that he hears from ahead of him, head shooting up as his focus narrows on the speedy figure navigating recklessly through the crowd.

His hand reaches up to his nape, nose scrunching as he observes what he slowly registers to be a German Shepherd sprinting over the sidewalk. There's a traffic light ahead, where the dog bumps into a couple more people before making a swift turn to its' left to cross the road, and that's where Jongdae widens his eyes.

_ It's not green light yet-- _

Everything after comes automatic, unconsciously, his limbs moving on their own accords as he finds himself chasing after the dog, making the same sharp turn he'd observe the Shepherd done earlier, and a quick apology murmured to every person he'd accidentally bumped against. One of his knees comes into contact with the hard, concrete surface as he throws his arms around the dog's frame, and Jongdae has only barely realized that the car he noticed from the corner of his eyes was headed their way.  _ Christ, Christ, Christ _ . He quickened his pace, heaving slightly as he lifts the canine in his arms before stepping out of the road once he's regained his footing.

“Buddy, you shouldn’t have— _ Woah! _ ”

Jongdae finds himself tugged out of his balance a little too soon, only barely noticing the tight pressure wrapped around his wrists when he nearly stumbles on his own steps at the harsh force leading him away from wherever they’d just been. “Wait, wait—You need to stop, I—” Jongdae murmurs endlessly before it draws into nothing but an incoherent babble when the dog begins to quicken its’ own pace out of nowhere.  _ Am I supposed to be prepared for this? _

_ _

In his franticness, Jongdae loops his fingers about the leash tangled around his wrist, and when it proves to be a whole lot harder than expected, he finds himself going weak in the knees, a light hiss escaping under his breath as it tightens around his skin.  _ That’s going to leave a mark. _ Jongdae feels little aside from the intense fear and uncertainty of where he’ll be led to. He racks his brain for details, memories—anything that might tip him off; but nothing about the dog rings the little bell in his head. His eyes widen in realization.

“Woah, woah—Please don’t tell me you’re from some far away neighbourhood!” He screams.


	4. He isn't actually about to die, is he?

“Sehun-ah,” Yixing halts him, and Sehun stops in the middle of his explanation with a widened and questioning gaze, “Is it really alright for you to be telling me this?”

Sehun knits his eyebrows, “Is it bad for me to tell you this?”

“I’m not sure… It’s just…” Yixing sighs, casting a small smile towards the younger as he plants a palm onto the top of the little boy’s head, “It’s something personal to Jongdae, isn’t it? I don’t think it’s alright for me to know about this without his prior knowledge.”

The dismay in Sehun’s features morphs into that of alarm; “It’s bad? It’s bad if I tell you about this?” And then, “Will hyung get mad if he finds out?”

A soft, little huff leaves him.  _ I don’t think he’ll ever be able to stay mad at you,  _ Yixing thinks, and smiles—just a little wider. “I won’t tell him that you told me,” Yixing reassures and watches Sehun beam, “But maybe you should still ask him if I’m allowed to know about what you just told me. Your hyung and I have only just met recently after all.”

The relief in Sehun’s face falls, mostly out of guilt, and his shoulders slump visibly. “I thought it would be good if you were to know about it,” he says, though Yixing feels as if it’s more to himself than to him. “All Dae hyung ever tells me is that it’ll be fine, or that  _ he’ll  _ be fine. So, I figured, maybe he isn’t telling me because I’m still a kid and that he thinks I wouldn’t know what to do even if he told me, which is true because I really am,” Sehun pauses, and Yixing hears his reluctance as his voice trails off into an uncertain silence, “just a kid… But I still want Dae hyung to have some help. I want someone to help him.”

Yixing’s gaze softens, “And you think I can help him?”

The little boy nods. “When you’re around, he turns a little sillier than usual,” he giggles, “Maybe if he becomes not-so-great in his deductions, he’ll turn to you for help.”

-

Jongdae  _ thinks  _ he recognizes this place. Jongdae believes he recognizes this place. He turns to the closest visible sign near him and lets out a relieved sigh when he finds that he’s still, somewhere—though quite a far walk from home—nearby his neighbourhood. The canine has ceased from running, and Jongdae’s wrist is no longer constricted by the leash hooked around his hand earlier. Jongdae’s unsure, maybe a little giddy—definitely quite dizzy, gaze dulling out into a blank look as he tries his very best to register his own balance in a couple of missteps. Ahead of him, the dog’s sniffing along the concrete path, ignoring the curious looks from passers-by at the neglected handle of the leash trailing along behind the canine’s route.

“You should really hold onto that leash, young man,” a random mother says.

Jongdae shakes his head, showing her an awkward little smile, “It’s not my dog, ma’am.”

_ Why was he still following the dog around anyways?  _ He groans internally, lips jutting out in frustration as he plops himself down onto a nearby bench, raising one of his palms up to his forehead. He lets his eyelids fall shut, heels rested against the ground when a tentative lick at the back of his other palm alerts him. Jongdae raises an eyebrow when he opens one eye to find the same German Shepherd, seated in front of him in a straight sitting posture, meeting Jongdae’s gaze with the most pleading look he’s ever seen on a dog.

“What…”

It tugs at his long sleeve gently, careful to not accidentally rip it off. “Why—Where do you want to take me now?” Jongdae asks, and he doubts he’s ever getting anything more of a response than the puppy eyes he’s being faced with now.

He lets out a quiet huff, lips pursed in consideration before he finally gives in and pushes himself off of the bench. It remains seated in front of him, but this time, with a beam, and Jongdae finds himself going a little weak for this. The Shepherd nudges at his thigh, signaling towards the leash with his nose. Confusedly, Jongdae picks it up.

“You probably have a name, don’t you?” Jongdae asks as he follows behind the canine closely, “You look like an Alfred. Or a Maxwell.”

He’s got a collar around his neck, but Jongdae’s checked, and he hasn’t seen a single sign of anything that even remotely resembles any signature or identity attached to it, much to his dismay. It feels weird to keep on calling him by  _ dog,  _ or  _ Shepherd _ —but Jongdae’s not one to plaster a different name onto a dog who’s probably already acquired its’ own sense of self-identity. He sniffs along their path intently, and Jongdae wonders if it’s looking for  _ something _ .

“What are you looking for, buddy?” Jongdae asks, again. Maybe it’s a little funny to be asking a dog as if he’s expecting an answer. “Did you lose something?” He pauses, before adding, “Someone?”

The Shepherd halts at that, and Jongdae must be imagining the longing look he’s got in his eyes as he looks into the distance. If the dog’s noticed what Jongdae had in mind, he didn’t show it, choosing instead to tug Jongdae further down along the paved trail. _ I’ve gotten completely off-course,  _ Jongdae thinks sadly. What could Sehun possibly be telling Yixing at the moment? Or rather, what  _ has  _ he told Yixing? Has the inspector found out about his attraction? About the fact that Yixing’s exactly his type?

_ It can’t be that bad. Even if he does end up finding out. _

It’s not a bad thing to be the subject of someone’s attraction, isn’t it? It’s a harmless attraction. A little crush—because Yixing is a reliable and honest police officer. Sehun comes to mind, and Jongdae lets out a little huff, audible mostly only to himself. If Sehun’s with Yixing then there’s little to worry. A small chuckle slips when Jongdae thinks back to his first meeting with the inspector where he’d nearly been shoulder thrown.  _ Sehun is very safe with Yixing. _

Jongdae’s forced out of his thoughts when his knee accidentally bumps against the dog’s back. Shaking himself out of the last bits of whatever he’s got in his head distracting him, he finally sees where he’s been led to. He’s not too sure what to think as he looks up to the foliage above him; shades of greens and bits of brown, layers of leaves blown over gently by the evening breeze. The shepherd does little, or maybe he’s frozen—hasn’t moved a single inch from where Jongdae had bumped him, right in front of the tree trunk. 

He kneels next to him, planting a gentle hand over the top of the dog’s head. “Why did you bring me here?” Jongdae asks, lips slowly shaping into a pout as he turns ever the more confused. He scans their direct surroundings, the corner of his lips curled downwards and a palm placed at his nape when he decides to follow the canine’s line of sight. Jongdae’s forced to squint slightly—the bits of sunshine flowing in between the leaves glaring back at his eyes—when he finally sees it.

It’s not every day that Jongdae,  _ or anyone, for that matter _ , finds a doll perched on top of a branch, where it probably shouldn’t be. It takes a little longer for Jongdae to grasp its’ full figure. Long, brown hair, topped over with a red summer hat, and a frilly strawberry-patterned dress to match with.  _ That can’t be… _ “That isn’t what you’re looking for, is it?” Jongdae tries to reaffirm. The dog’s unmoving gaze is answer enough until it turns to Jongdae with… the most expectant look Jongdae’s ever seen on a dog. “This… isn’t what you brought me here for, is it?”

It’s not a question.

The canine flicked its’ nose towards the doll’s direction. Jongdae understands immediately. “Aren’t you a little too much—Asking a complete stranger?” The dog does not understand at all, tilts his head in some gesture that Jongdae would’ve seen as mocked innocence had a human been the one to do it. Jongdae stares at him, and the dog gazes back with a begging look, and Jongdae never knew dogs could be so expressive.

“Alright…” 

He rolls his sleeves up to his elbows, murmuring a couple of cheers to himself. He should not be here doing this. He shouldn’t even have been out of the house, to begin with. He should have been at home, either taking a nap or taking the chance to watch a few more episodes of  _ Yakitate Japan _ —before he was to start marking his students’ assignments. It started with Sehun, and then Yixing—and then, this dog, though it doesn’t take long for Jongdae to start feeling guilty for pushing the blame to other people.  _ Right _ . Where had he even obtained the nerve to blame a dog from?

Jongdae knows many things, but he’s not as confident when it comes to climbing trees. The bark of the tree appears and feels somewhat rough to the touch, and as Jongdae looks up, he finds a bunch of branches he might be able to step on for support. All in all, it’s an easy tree to climb; minus the fact that the doll’s placed a little too high for his comfort. The dog barks at him behind, and Jongdae tries to take it as moral support. It’s working.

He wraps his arms around the trunk, fingers gripping at the scaly bark, and a foot raised to be propped against its’ hard surface. Jongdae pushes himself upwards, and from a distance, he thinks he hears a youngster exclaiming loudly to his mother about how  _ there’s some weird grown-up climbing a tree over there.  _ Jongdae rolls his eyes, extending an arm out to grab at the closest branch; _ Don’t kids climb trees nowadays? Damn you Z-Generations.  _

At the very least, he’s a little higher off-ground now. Progress. The doll is still quite out of reach. Just a little more. 

_ Who is he doing this for? _ Jongdae asks himself, three feet off of the ground.  _ Who does the doll belong to? _ Isn’t it a little too much to be a pushover for a dog? Though in his defense, the dog did happen to be  _ very  _ expressive, enough for Jongdae’s own guards to be lowered. Is that what he was going to tell Sehun later on?  _ “Hyung, why did you climb a tree?” “Oh, because a dog asked me to with a very effective pleading look! Very effective!”  _

He hears another cry of moral support from below. Jongdae wishes things weren’t as real as they were now, five feet off of the ground. He wonders what Sehun would say if he were to find out—it’s a comical situation, but Sehun has never been one to laugh at others. Sweet, and kind Sehun, who Jongdae wouldn’t have minded climbing a tree for. Is that what this is? Everyone having their own list of people they would willingly climb a tree for? Should it ever matter, Jongdae  _ does  _ hope that in the event of Jongdae’s absence, someone would climb a tree for Sehun if Sehun were to, say,  _ accidentally flew his kite into a tree. _

Seven feet off of the ground, just a branch away from where the doll is perched. Jongdae inhales deeply. He reaches his arm out once more with his other arm hooked tightly around a nearby branch for support. Jongdae doesn’t know where else he can step for the doll to be easier to grab and does his best to stretch his fingers out towards the stuffed toy. He feels the very barest of the smooth fabric against the tips of his digits and pushes himself onto his tippy toes, fingers only barely reaching the doll’s skirt before he manages to trap the thin fabric in between his digits—when his foot slips. 

_ No, no, no, no, no, no, no! _

Jongdae did  _ not  _ come out of the house only to end up falling from some height. Jongdae did  _ not  _ come out of his shell only for his life to flash right before his eyes like this. Is it _ just _ flashing? _ Or is this death _ . Unconsciously, he brings the doll closer to his chest, shifting his position in the air as fast as he’s able to avoid landing on his head  _ and possibly break his neck _ —but the impact still comes a little sooner than expected, and Jongdae doesn’t feel confident enough with the situation to ask himself if he made the shift in time. 

_ Something hurts. _ Jongdae isn’t sure where, but he assumes the pain is supposed to say something about his fall. There’s a loud ringing sound in his ears, but it’s slowly being overwhelmed by a sense of nausea, and Jongdae hopes he has a little more time before he possibly falls into a state of disorientation. Where are the barking sounds coming from? _ Ah yes, the dog, of course. _ But why do they sound awfully muffled?  _ Funny _ . He can’t move his lower limbs.

The doll remains close to his chest when Jongdae hears footsteps approaching. The background noise grows into muffled barks and voices. 

“Are… alright… Mister?” 

“Call… ambulance!!” 

“We’re… help! On… the way!”

_ He isn’t actually about to die, is he? _


	5. Am I really still too young to understand it, hyung?

Jongdae hears crying to his right. He doesn’t know where he’s woken up in, eyes glazed as they travel across the empty scene above him. He plants his palms flat against the floor, pushing himself up with a gentle heave. An empty scenery greets him, the interiors of a house that has Jongdae pondering over its’ familiarity with every edge and corner that he’s come to notice. He feels a little twist in his chest when the distant cries began morphing into softer, breathier sobs; and yet, still sounding just as sad and pained as the tears prior to the shift.

There’s no confusion, nor fear whatsoever as Jongdae lets his steps guide him through the desolate hallway, bleakness leaking from the corners of its’ walls; nothing but some sort of twisted forecast as if he’s already aware of what’ll meet him at the end of the hallway. _ This voice _… Jongdae wonders where he’s heard it from before. Choked cries, hastened breaths, and an acoustic piece playing in the background that sends a surge of nostalgia crashing over his entire being. Jongdae doesn’t realize he’s in tears until he feels the dampness at his cheek.

He takes a step closer towards the source of the sound, ignoring the wetness trailing down his cheek when a force grips at his hand, tiny fingers intertwining with his, sharply tugging him backwards. Jongdae finds himself awakened once more at the sudden pulling force; though, this time, opening his eyes to be greeted instead by the bright glare of the fluorescent lighting from above him. He turns to his side to find that the digits tangled around his own belong to Sehun, and Jongdae sees that he’s somehow figured that out when he realizes how he is barely surprised at the image of the younger boy asleep over his bedside, his head rested against his folded arms.

_ Did he accidentally tug my hand while he was asleep? _ A small smile pulls the corners of his lips upwards, fondness playing over his tiers as he feels the younger squeezing his hand around his fingers in his sleep. Jongdae looks around a little more, the weight of his head a little heavier than usual when he shifts his shoulders against the soft pillow underneath of him. One of his legs is propped up on top of a higher cushion, and when Jongdae raises his palm to his head, his touch is met with a cotton-like texture. _ What on earth… _

“Jongdae, you’re up!” He hears to his side. “Wait, let me call the doctor!”

Jongdae pouts in recognition at _ this _ tone. It isn’t long before Minseok returns, immediately approaching the side of his bed with crossed arms upon his arrival, eyebrows furrowed with his lips quirked into a perplexed expression. His eyes are as catty as ever— _ even if Jongdae is in no position to comment on this _ —and it remains as one of his most intimidating features yet when they’re not accompanied with Minseok’s signature gummy smile. It’s been a fair while since Jongdae’s last seen Minseok, but as it is, he doubts _ anything _has changed.

Minseok plops himself onto the nearest stool, propping an elbow over his thigh before letting his cheek rest against his palm; “Alright, the doctor’s going to come soon. Now, I’m expecting an essay on how on earth did I end up finding you in this situation.”

The older man still looks as exhausted as ever, had dressed himself up in the most casual of tees, only topping it off with a jacket or a coat simply to stay warm. The only difference he notices is the absence of the laptop bag that Minseok carries around with him on a regular basis, and Minseok notices that Jongdae realizes this when he catches the younger man observing his empty hands and shoulders for too long. “Look, I got a call from the hospital because apparently, you had very conveniently set me as one of your emergency contacts,” Minseok surmises, “I was in a rush, your dad told me to pick Sehun up, mentioned he’s on his way from Seong-Dong. They said you got into an accident; also, I don’t understand why you think my laptop would be the first thing I’d bring with me.”

The younger man puckers his lips, averting his gaze away in playful avoidance; “Because isn’t that how it’s supposed to be with graduate students in existential crises?”

Minseok clicks his tongue. “If only your head wasn’t injured, watch me knock you out cold.”

Jongdae cackles under his breath, “Not too rough, hyung. I’m… injured, remember?” He wishes he was joking, but then again, Jongdae would take any excuse to avoid Minseok’s fist. Even so, Jongdae couldn’t help but look at the cast on his leg with contempt. He’s only barely able to wiggle his toes, but his head is still spinning ever so slightly with the extra weight that he’s not used to carrying on his head. There’s only so much that he can remember too; there’d been a dog, as well as a tree. _ And then what? _

By association alone, Jongdae imagines that his physical injuries had been a result of falling from the tree he’d remembered gazing up upon, but still, nothing comes to mind when he tries to recall for the reasons. _ Why was there a dog? Why was there the fall? _

“And well, uhm…” Jongdae drawls, “I fell from a tree.”

“Yeah, I heard you fell too,” Minseok narrows his eyes, “What I wanted to know was why on earth were you even up in a tree in the first place.”

“Well, about that—”

“Jongdae Kim?” A man enters in his white coat, and their conversation comes to a complete halt. “Oh, I apologize—Did I interrupt something?”

Minseok shakes his head, whereas all Jongdae is capable of is a warm, little smile; though somehow, it’s enough as it is.

-

“Hunnie, I appreciate your concern but I think I can make my own cup of tea.”

Sehun turns to him with a menacing glare, little fingers gripping at the handle of the teapot as he tips it over slightly to pour the contents into a mug. “You can stop worrying, Dae hyung. I asked Yixing ge how to make tea safely,” Sehun reassures. Jongdae continues to observe him worryingly, lips pursed into a thin line while his fingers drum at the surface of the table. Several times he’s tried pushing himself off of his seat to assist Sehun with his tea-making, but every time, his efforts are shut down by the latter, still blind in his insistence to make his hyung a cup of tea.

Jongdae only sighs, rests his chin against the tabletop. “And how do the inspector’s instructions go?”

He hears a small little determined huff from the young boy; “Easy! Just put some of these tea leaves into the teapot, pour some really hot water and wait for a few minutes. It’s very safe!”

_ Hah… _ Jongdae’s gaze travels towards the abundance of teabags kept within the little jar conveniently placed right at the very middle of their dining table. He’s pretty sure Sehun knows that they’re called tea bags for a reason and questions why Sehun had gone through the trouble of finding the exact brand of _ leaves _that Yixing had recommended to him through text. Next to him, his phone vibrates with a new text. Jongdae sniffles, nose wrinkling ever so slightly in reaction as he leans his upper half closer towards his phone to check what he’s received when his phone is slid away from him out of nowhere. He raises his head up to find Sehun going through his phone instead, the mug of tea he’d been so adamant on making for him already served right in front of Jongdae, steaming and warm.

“Hunnie, may I have my phone back?”

Sehun turns to him briefly before refocusing his attention back to Jongdae’s phone; “Hyung, you can rest. I’ll deal with all of your messages and reply to your students’ questions for you, so you can relax.”

“I’m not sure if that’s such a good idea, Sehun-ah,” Jongdae says, “Could you just… tell them that I can’t answer their messages right now?”

He hears his phone vibrate once more in Sehun’s hand. “Some of them sound like they really, really need help though,” Sehun pouts, clicking at the most recent message, “_ ’Jongdae-ah, could you help me collect some more drain weeds? Really, really need them for my students’ practical classes. Thanks!’ _”

Jongdae’s left eye twitches, mood suddenly sullen by the message Sehun had read out for him; “Sehun, please don’t tell me that message is from Byun Baekhyun.”

“Oh, it is from Baekhyun hyung! How’d you know? Hyung is truly the best detective!”

A small chuckle escapes him, and Jongdae shakes his head with a fond little grin. His arm lays stretched out over the surface of the table, the side of his head slowly coming to rest against his arm, “You don’t need to be a detective to know that the message came from Baekhyun hyung, Sehun-ah. Maybe you’ll understand once you grow up where you’ll eventually meet these kinds of people.”

Sehun juts his lips out in question and Jongdae can’t help himself from extending his arm out to pat the top of the little boy’s head. “Am I really still too young to understand it, hyung?” Sehun asks. It takes Jongdae a bit to register his question, lashes fluttering as he blinks at the smaller boy—unsure of why he’s found himself somewhat flustered at his question. Had it been because Jongdae’s used to asking it himself as a child? How often had he asked himself when he was younger, just how little does he understand?

_ It’s not even that serious, right? _

_ Get over it. _

“I _ do _ hope that you won’t meet someone like Baek hyung too soon, I mean,” Jongdae smiles, “In the meantime, just go into the group chats that I have with my students and help me tell them that I won’t be around for a bit. Don’t bother replying Baekhyun’s message, alright?”

-

Yixing scrolls through his previous messages with Jongdae—or rather, Sehun—unaware as the corners of his lips twitch upwards into a subtle, amused smile as he swipes his thumb over his screen slowly, reading every message bubble intently.

_ ‘Jongdae (09:43am);_

_ Inspector, can I take off hyung’s cast he looks really uncomfy.’ _

_ ‘Jongdae (10:15am);_

_ How do I make tea without burning myself’ _

_ ‘Jongdae (10:54am);_

_ Inspector, I followed what you said thank you for teaching me how to make tea J ‘ _

_ ‘Jongdae (12:22pm);_

_ Inspector, hyung doesn’t want me to help him shower but I don’t think he should shower alone what should I do’ _

_ ‘Jongdae (12:23pm);_

_ Hyung is such a stubborn brat hahahaha’ _

_ Sehun is really trying his best for his hyung. _ Yixing’s eyes glaze with sentimentality, brows quirked up as a goofy smile paints over his expression. Over the past couple of days ever since Jongdae’s been rendered semi-incapacitated, Sehun’s began to actively seek Yixing out through Jongdae’s phone, asking numerous questions with regards to how to care for his _ poor, little hyung _ . Personally, Yixing thinks Jongdae’s probably more than capable of caring for himself, with his vast knowledge and ability to apply whatever he’s just learned anywhere he needs. Though then again, Sehun _ is _ incredibly insistent— _ so chances are, Jongdae’s already given up… _

_ Cute. _

Across him, Kyungsoo is intentionally pouring a little too much soy sauce into the small plate, and for some reason, Yixing doesn’t comment on it like he usually does; attention remaining fixed to the messages he’s had with Sehun. He furrows his eyebrows, gaze straightened towards the older man in an unamused expression. “Inspector Zhang,” he coughs.

His call prompts Yixing to finally raise his head from his phone, gazing back at Kyungsoo with a wide-eyed look before noticing the overflow of soy sauce from the little dish at Kyungsoo’s side of the table. “Kyungsoo-ah, your soy sauce is overflowing again,” Yixing points out politely, as if he hadn’t just left Kyungsoo to venture into his own world. He sets his phone aside and extends his arm towards Kyungsoo, purposefully directing the latter’s hand to return the container to its initial position.

“You’ve been distracted lately,” Kyungsoo says. Yixing’s hand stills in the air, Kyungsoo’s own within his.

He clears his throat gently, retracting his digits; “You think so?”

“Chanyeol told me to take you out,” Kyungsoo answers. The older man tilts his head, a little unsure of what to make of this discovery when the other lets out a tiny snort. “He thinks you haven’t exactly been yourself lately. You’re constantly on your phone, going all giggly at something on your screen, and apparently, you weren’t very focused during a recent case,” he explains.

Yixing stares at him blankly, “I… I haven’t?”

The younger officer only shrugs, picking at a piece of sushi in between his chopsticks before bringing it up to his lips; “He’s the one who thinks so. It’s the only thing he’s been talking about for the past few days.”

_ Huh… _ Yixing wonders if he’s imagining the spite from Kyungsoo’s voice. He drops his gaze, eyes falling onto his untouched plate. His chopsticks are still inside of its’ wrapper, with the little leaf in his tea floating about the surface in small distances. “You two sound pretty close,” Yixing remarks. Kyungsoo chokes on his sushi. “I don’t think I was _ that _ distracted. I still focus on my work just fine,” he pauses, “Sehun’s been sending me updates of what’s going on at their home lately, with Jongdae and his broken leg and all, asking me how to do _ this _ and _ that _… And, I guess it’s just been an amusing few days.”

“Jongdae and his broken leg, huh?”

Yixing nods. “Yeah, and… It’s just kind of… cute. How Sehun has this intense taking-care-of-my-Dae-hyung plan going on, and I’m just kind of happy that Jongdae can at least… be reminded of the fact that there’s always someone wanting to take care of him, and that he doesn’t have to be alone whenever he doesn’t want to be.”

Kyungsoo chuckles under his breath, “Do people usually feel like that?”

The inspector shrugs, lips curved into an uncertain frown. “Maybe,” he mutters, “Would you?”

Yixing doesn’t need to know that Chanyeol came to mind upon raising that question. He releases a quiet huff, shoulders briefly raised in an uncertain shrug. However, Yixing doesn’t miss the knowing smile on his lips. “Maybe you just want to see him again,” Kyungsoo suggests playfully, and before Yixing could inquire on what he meant, Kyungsoo cuts him off before he even manages a single word; “I meant—_ them. _ Maybe you want to see _ them _again. You’re pretty good friends with them now, aren’t you?”

-

Jongdae perks his head out from under his blanket at the sound of the doorbell; all but a light bell sound that echoes throughout their apartment. He dazedly looks about his living room, letting out a soft sigh as his eyes register the soft, orange hues of the later morning hours. “Hunnie? You’re home already?” He groans, raising himself off of the cushions with a little sniffle. _ Shouldn’t he be in school now? _Nevertheless, Jongdae slowly lands his foot onto the floor, rubbing at his nape begrudgingly before holding onto one of his crutches. He’s still fairly unused to having to maneuver himself around with the crutches, taking a deep breath as he readies himself to lift his whole weight off of the seat.

_ Gentle step, crutch forward. Gentle step, crutch forward. _He unlocks his door, pulling it open with his head unconsciously set to view downwards in him expecting to see Sehun; except, it’s not Sehun that he sees.

“I-Inspector Zhang,” Jongdae splutters.

“You know, honestly—at this point, I think it’s alright if you just call me Yixing,” he says sheepishly, “I’m on my off today anyways.”

Then, _ it _ returns; the very reason why Jongdae had left his home on that one, particularly fine afternoon, hours after work where he’d normally _ never _be found outside of the house, much less running around a park and climbing random trees only to fall from one of them.

_ 'He's telling me about why he thinks you haven't been yourself lately.' _

_ 'He thinks you've been distracted lately. He has a theory as to why you may be feeling so.’ _

Jongdae doesn’t notice that he’s frozen until Yixing leans in _ ever so _slightly to inspect him closer. “Jongdae?”

A blush creeps up his face, and Jongdae feels the heat from the very back of his neck first before he feels it tickling at his ears, lips quivering nervously as his grip around the handles of his crutch tightens. “Right… It’s… I,” Jongdae stammers before backing away from the entrance, turning on his foot to face away from his visitor. Jongdae _ was not _ ready for this. Jongdae _ is not _ ready for this. Jongdae _ does not _ know what to do with this. Jongdae _ really doesn’t _know how to deal with this.

Does Yixing know by now? Had Sehun _ really _ told him that Jongdae seems to be _ somewhat _ attracted to him? Going back to his original argument, no matter how obvious he might’ve been, he couldn’t possibly be _ that _obvious. Jongdae goes on a little, internal mental breakdown; and then, he looks down at what he's currently sporting: a heavily wrinkled black anime tee, a pair of pastel pink shorts to match, all while his hair strewn all over in its' post-sleep disarray.

“I’m… I’m very,” Jongdae drawls, “I’m so sorry, I was not… wasn’t expecting visitors.”

Yixing smiles good-naturedly, “That’s alright. I should’ve notified you. Is this a bad time?”

Jongdae grits his teeth and clenches his fist around the handles. _ Stop gay-panicking! _

“No! Not at all, please do come in!” Jongdae purses his lips into a thin line before they part as a sudden idea pops into his head, “I think I’ll just go back to the kitchen to prepare some tea!” _ Calm down, calm down, calm down, calm down, calm down. _In his haste, Jongdae doesn’t hear Yixing when he tells him that he doesn’t have to as he begins moving over towards the direction of the kitchen.

However, he doesn’t expect to take a misstep; crutches unable to support his weight where it’s been placed, the very tip slipping against the tiled floor causing Jongdae to lean a little too hard forward. Gazing straight at the potential impact spot, Jongdae closes his eyes shut. _ Even if mistakes happen, two accidents in a row is a bit of an overkill, isn’t it? _

A couple of seconds eventually passes from there, and it takes Jongdae a couple of seconds more before he realizes that nothing’s happened, and that he hadn’t hit his head, and that he hadn’t just woken up to suffering through the consequences of yet another accident. However, Jongdae doesn’t expect to find a pair of strong arms wrapped around his waist to hold him back from falling on his face, doesn’t expect that Yixing would have really succeeded in catching him.

_ It all happened so fast… _

He hears a soft sigh from the taller as he finds his whole frame being guided towards the closest seat, his back slowly coming to rest against its’ soft cushions. Yixing is gentle with his injured leg, placing a smaller cushion below its’ weight before covering Jongdae’s figure over with his blanket. Jongdae observes him intently, every single action, and every move, no matter how little, and feels his heart becoming a little full. “Th-thanks, Inspector,” Jongdae murmurs, looking away to avoid from Yixing noticing the blush at his cheeks, “Really—I’m so… I’m a mess today, I’m so sorry.”

Secretly, Jongdae wishes he could say that it isn’t even _ his _fault but looking back up to Yixing’s concerned expression, Jongdae isn’t sure if he’s even got the heart to blame him.

“Is everything alright?” Yixing asks, walking back towards the entrance to close the door that they’d unintentionally left open earlier, “Must be a pretty hard time for you now.”

_ Is it? _“Well, it isn’t really hard. Sehun’s been taking care of me a lot lately,” Jongdae says, thinking back with a little smile. The tints of red in his cheeks begin to disappear slowly, “Though I still have to fix a bunch of things for him in the end, it’s nice to think that I can have someone taking care of me too. Showering is the hardest part though.”

Yixing lets out a burst of laughter at that, and Jongdae’s own smile widens. “Not exactly what I meant but I’m glad you feel that way,” he remarks.

This catches Jongdae off-guard. “Then what did you mean?”

The latter only shrugs noncommittally, lips shaped into a slight pout before taking a seat at the small stool by the coffee table. “How long have you got before you have to return for work?” He asks instead.

Jongdae feels his insides twisting in anxiousness at the sudden shift of topics, though he supposes he has to play along anyway, even if he’s curious about what Yixing had meant by his remark. “I think I’ve got like a week or so left? I was given two weeks! Though since we don’t have lifts at our school buildings, they’re letting me have a spare classroom at the ground floor so I wouldn’t have to walk all the way up the stairs to my classes,” Jongdae explains, and in his attempt to sound as bright as possible, all that comes to mind instead is the possibility of falling from a high place.

He hears bells ringing in his head, slowly morphing into sounds more akin to that of barking; and in a flash of memory, Jongdae remembers himself in a particularly high position, his own digits reaching up towards an object seated on top of a branch. A… _ doll? _

“Yixing?”

The man blinks at the call, “Yes, Jongdae?”

“Could you please… go to Sehun’s room and bring this doll to me? His room is just along the corridor, the second door at the left. The doll’s very red, and you’ll notice it right away, because Sehun’s other plushies are mostly either blue or animals,” Jongdae explains, eyes closing shut as he does his best to assume where it might’ve been placed in Sehun’s room. Yixing accepts his request without any further questions, and even if he’s quite confused by the sudden change of subject, he doesn’t let it show. When Yixing leaves, Jongdae’s left alone in the space with nothing but his thoughts.

_ How on earth did you forget? How could you have forgotten that? _ The doll had been found with him at the time of his fall, and it had been brought along into the ambulance as they’d assume that it belonged to him; until a confused Jongdae with a temporary memory loss ended up handing it to Sehun, who’d been just as confused when he received it. _ How the hell did you forget? _

He knocks at his head with his knuckles begrudgingly. He wonders if Yixing might know who the owner of the doll is, but in the case that he _ doesn’t? _ Jongdae thinks back to the events that went down on that particular day, recalls every single memory he’s got of the German Shepherd that had dragged him all the way to the park. Maybe if he’d gone outside more often, he would’ve recognized the dog and knew if its’ owners were regular goers to the park—and as it is, he doesn’t. Dogs are usually better and far more acquainted with places they’ve been _ walked _ to before, and considering that the dog had led him to some doll perched at a random tree branch, he feels that he can safely assume that it’s _ not _the dog’s first time at the park.

It’s elementary, far _ too _ elementary, and it barely helps. Jongdae’s still barely moved out of square one. Though he supposes that _ just _like this, he wouldn’t be able to find the owner of the doll at all.

Yixing finally returns, and thankfully, with the exact doll that Jongdae had requested of him to look for. He still looks fairly puzzled, and Jongdae smiles, somewhat hesitantly because he doesn’t particularly feel too keen about proceeding to ask his next favour. 

“Ah… Yi-yixing,” Jongdae stammers, only realizing now that he’d referred to the elder with his first name earlier. _ Not the time, not the time! _“Could I ask… another favour?” The taller nods with a questioning smile. “Could I ask you to drive me to the park? The one… It’s a ten minutes’ drive from here, and it’s right by the neighbourhood… Of course, only if you don’t mind! No pressure.”

There’s a little silence after that, and Jongdae wonders if all the excuses that he thinks he hears Yixing’s throwing out is just a figment of his imagination. “I don’t mind,” and then, there’s _ that _smile once more. The smile that has Jongdae forgetting that they had first met in the premises of an investigation scene, where Jongdae had nearly been thrown over his shoulder in a moment of his own carelessness. Jongdae tries to ignore the skip in his heartbeat.


	6. Because you're always around, and I know you're always around.

Yixing gently helps Jongdae set himself back against the backrest of the bench, landing a gentle pat at the top of his head before seating himself next to Jongdae. Yixing’s touch feels warm to his head, and at the thought, Jongdae’s face goes warmer, cheeks reddening all over again in its’ post-Yixing-touch effect. Next to him, Yixing observes him intently, gaze particularly locked onto the flush along his neck, prompting Jongdae to self-consciously place a palm to the side of it. He hears a tiny snort from Yixing after that.

“So, why’re we here with the doll, Jongdae-ah?”

Jongdae inhales deeply. “Right—It’s… I finally remembered where I got this doll from?” He chuckles, suddenly a whole lot more self-aware than he’s ever been in his past 25 years of living. “I was actually walking down this street, on my way to… where you and Sehun were when I got dragged to this park by a German Shepherd,” Jongdae explains, letting slip an awkward laughter when he notices Yixing’s perplexed expression. “I know it sounds weird! I couldn’t stop since my wrist somehow got tangled with its’ leash, and then, it led me to this tree where I—”

He stops as a sudden bark erupts out of nowhere from the distance, and Jongdae isn’t sure if he’s imagining it but the bark _ sounds _a whole lot like the ones from the dog that he met the other day…

A loud cry resounds from afar. Jongdae and Yixing turn their heads towards the direction from which the cry had come from, eyes widening together when a large dog comes rushing towards them. A pair of paws eventually come to rest at Jongdae’s uninjured leg, and Jongdae finds himself coming face to face with a certain German Shepherd that Jongdae very conveniently happens to be fairly acquainted with.

“It’s you…”

The dog barks and licks at his cheek gently.

“This is the actual dog from your story, Jongdae?” Yixing appears to be a lot more amused than ever, the corner of his lips quirked into a little smile.

“You’ve found Dabin’s doll, Max!” Someone remarks, and it isn’t long before they hear steps approaching them, belonging to a man sporting a smart button-up, and loose dress pants. Yixing thinks he’s got a gentle smile, little wrinkles adorning the corners of his eyes that suggests the man’s age, whereas Jongdae thinks the man is… _ exceptionally familiar _. “My goodness, were you two the ones who found it? We went out on a picnic the other day, and my son had hidden his little sister’s doll somewhere here and forgot all about it after we went home,” he grins sheepishly.

Yixing beams, “Ah, I think my friend here found it.” He gently pats Jongdae’s shoulders, and raises a brow when the latter barely reacts to it; Not even a slight jump, or any signs whatsoever that tell Yixing that his gesture had been noticed. Instead, he finds Jongdae staring at the father, eyes a little wider than usual with his tiers parted from each other in some sort of expression of disbelief. Yixing wonders if it’s just some sort of shock reaction that lasts a little longer than usual. “Your son and daughter are at school now then, I believe?”

The man rubs at his nape, “Yep. I’m only here because I’ve got this morning off. My colleagues and I did a really long but successful surgery last night, and ah, maybe I should’ve gotten more sleep instead?”

When Yixing looks to his side, Jongdae’s expression still hasn’t shifted at all from the state Yixing had seen earlier, but just as he’s about to grab the doll from his lap, Jongdae raises his arms, lifts the stuffed toy up in his hands as he presents it towards the man. “I found it in this park, just now,” Jongdae says, and Yixing wonders if Jongdae’s smile is as uncharacteristic of him as it looks, “It was right under this bench when we came.”

_ Oh? _

“Huh, I wonder how we missed it,” the man asks himself before ultimately shrugging, “Thanks lots, boys. I owe it to you, really. My daughter’s been crying non-stop for days now.”

“It’s a pretty doll,” Jongdae comments.

“Isn’t it? Anyways, as much as I’d like to chat a little more, I’ve got to go soon,” he laughs heartily, and Yixing notices Jongdae wincing at that—even if it’s subtle enough to not be seen by the older man. “Maybe I’ll see you boys again if you live around here,” he remarks, leaving not long after. However, the dog’s paws remain at Jongdae’s thighs for a little while longer, eyeing him with an expression neither Yixing nor Jongdae can comprehend before eventually hopping off to follow after his owner. Yixing’s gaze follows their trail.

“I thought you found the doll at a tree the dog had led you to?” He asks in his curiosity when he comes to a realization, dots connecting in his head on their own, and it’s confusing until it _ makes sense _. “Did you fall from the tree trying to get that doll?” He asks as he finally turns to Jongdae, blinking in surprise when he notices that Jongdae’s fallen into a state of a shivering mess, head lowered with his gaze fixed downwards onto the ground, shoulders trembling severely as numerous, choked out sobs erupt out of his lips.

-

When Jongdae comes to, the first thing that comes to sight is Sehun’s face, hovering right above his with a worried expression; and even if he finds it touching and all, the shock of having a face so close to him as he’s waking up has him panicking, head raising from the cushion it was rested against only to bump with Sehun’s own. Sehun lets out a whiny groan after the impact, palms on top of his forehead as his eyes water with tears. “Hyung, why!” He cries.

Jongdae lets slip a small groan of his own too, rubbing at the middle of his forehead remorsefully. “Why—what, what happened to me?”

“You… cried yourself to sleep on Officer Zhang’s… shoulder,” Sehun tries to say while holding back the pained tears, “He brought you back here… after you fell asleep. He just left.”

Somehow, the pain at his forehead doesn’t feel so painful anymore; or at least, not nearly as painful as the way his head suddenly throbs at the revelation. _ I cried myself to sleep on Yixing’s shoulder? _ Jongdae chokes on a held back scream, digits moving from his forehead to his cheeks; face slowly heating up all over again. _ Ah, here we go again. _ “Why on earth—why, I—cried? Why did I—I—” And it continues until Jongdae finally remembers the events prior to _ him crying himself to sleep on Officer Zhang’s shoulder. _

The friendly stranger comes to mind, as well as his features, as does his occupation, and general fatherly vibe; his laughter begins to ring out in Jongdae’s mind, and Jongdae’s incessant panicking of what happened between him and Yixing comes to a halt. He’s frozen completely, and he’s not the only one who notices that he’s suddenly completely unsure of what to do next at this realization.

“Hyung?” Jongdae turns to the younger boy, and is again, met with the same concern laced all over his features, “What happened?”

Jongdae nearly breaks down at that. _ How does he tell Sehun now? _ Or rather, _ what _ is he supposed to tell him? Neither of them knows what to think about this silence between them. Sehun’s expecting answers, but Jongdae doesn’t know—what exactly he can give Sehun. When he looks at the younger, sees that the tee that Sehun is wearing features one of Sehun’s favourite cartoon series as it’s graphic, Jongdae can’t help but wonder if it’s really okay to burden his brother with this. Maybe in the past few days where Jongdae’s constantly forced into the impression that he’s being taken care of, he had genuinely, for a moment, forgot that Sehun is still just _ a little boy. _

_ “Am I really still too young to understand it, hyung?” _

Or is it exactly because he’s a little boy that Jongdae needs to tell him what he probably should be aware of? Somehow, even at his young age, Sehun’s learned the concept of allowing others to take their time where necessary; and Jongdae sees that in this case where Sehun’s yet to press Jongdae for answers despite the silence having already gone on for a good couple of minutes. Slowly, he reaches out to Sehun, pulls the smaller into a tight embrace, arms wrapped securely around the boy’s frame.

“I met a man earlier, and he looked exactly like dad. Talked like him, laughed like him, was even a father himself,” Jongdae laughs before adding, “he was almost exactly like _ my _dad.”

Jongdae _ knows _ Sehun wants to say something, _ knows _ he’s refraining from it. How is his little brother already _ this _ mature at his age? It’s not like Jongdae had looked away for too long, _ right? _ “I think I should apologize to Yixing, honestly,” Jongdae murmurs, smile softening when he feels Sehun’s own arms coming around his neck as well, voice nearly breaking in the next few words he says, “He didn’t deserve that, you know? Suddenly crying out of nowhere—I would’ve panicked if I were him so…”

Sehun shakes his head lightly, strands of hair gently tickling at the side of Jongdae’s cheek. “Officer Zhang—_ Yixing hyung _wouldn’t mind, I’m sure,” he reassures, and Jongdae chuckles at Sehun’s initiative with comfort words, “He understands… He knows. He would never be mad at you for it.”

The older man only hums in amusement, nuzzling his nose into Sehun’s shoulders. “Why are you so confident, huh?” Jongdae asks, and the lilt in his voice suggests playfulness.

The little boy doesn’t take it that way; “Remember when you used to lock yourself in your room and watched videos of you and _ uncle _? When you cried alone a lot?”

Jongdae’s head goes blank, and Sehun tightens his arms around his hyung, lips trembling with uncertainty. “I _ told _ him about that… Even though, Dae hyung doesn’t do it anymore, he still… falls back into it sometimes whenever this particular part of the year arrives. Dae hyung is _ still _ … sad and I hope he wouldn’t be sad anymore,” Sehun mumbles, and towards the end, his words become nearly inaudible, “And—I made up an excuse that… I told him that it was my theory to why hyung hasn’t been as _ cool _lately.”

It clicks. _ Was this what Yixing had meant when he said that Sehun was going to tell him why he thinks Jongdae has been distracted lately? _ And then it clicks again. _ Was this what Yixing had meant when he mentioned that he meant something else earlier? _

_ So, it wasn’t about me being attracted to Yixing? _

He tries not to feel a little too scared in asking, “And how did Yixing take it?”

Sehun pouts, chin resting over Jongdae’s shoulders. “Hyung thinks that you might not like it if he knows without you knowing that he knows…” Sehun trails off before perking his head up, meeting Jongdae’s gaze with his own teary one. “Are you mad that I told him?”

_ Is he mad? _ In all truth, it does feel… somewhat surreal to have someone other than his adoptive father, Sehun, and Minseok knowing. It had been a poor coping mechanism, something Jongdae had stumbled across on the internet and tried out in his desperation to get rid of the clawing emptiness and overbearing sadness within his chest, the notion where there must be a limit to how long a person can go being sad over something; until Jongdae realizes that losing his father in the manner he lost him, couldn’t be so easily reduced into just a _ something _.

Sehun wasn’t wrong when he said that _ Dae hyung is still sad _ , because he really, still is. Occasionally, Jongdae still thinks back to the time he dove headfirst into his old memories with his father, to the hours where he forced himself to take the sadness and grief head-on without allowing himself to lean on to anyone, to the time that had easily become the darkest period in his life because Jongdae realized _ too _ late that being alone, taking it all alone, and facing it alone _ doesn’t help _ . And then, Jongdae realizes then he’s only been able to grow out of it, out of _ the practice, _even if it’s only slowly because Sehun had been there, has always been here all along.

The dream that Jongdae had after his fall; had it been to remind him _ what time of the year it is? _

In his thoughts, Jongdae hadn’t realized that he kept Sehun waiting, only noticing now that the dragged-out silence hadn’t been too comfortable on Sehun’s part, who looks barely seconds away from bursting into tears.

His lips stretch out into a gentle smile, leaning in to gently bump Sehun’s forehead against his own. “I’m not too happy that you told him honestly,” he whispers, and the younger boy’s eyes widen in panic, “But it’s alright. I forgive you. Hunnie-ah.”

“It’s… alright,” Sehun repeats, not particularly feeling confident in that statement.

“You think I’m still sad but,” Jongdae’s breath hitches, palms patting at Sehun’s back in reassurance, “I’m less sad now, do you know that? I’m a little less sad, because you’re always around, and I know you’re always around. What would I do if I didn’t know you were? If I couldn’t see that you’ve always been here for me?” 

Sehun smiles slightly, a little more reassured than he’d initially been, but still somewhat unsure. “I’ll always be here,” he says anyways, because this is the one thing that Sehun isn’t unsure about.

“I know,” Jongdae nods, digits gently running through Sehun’s hair, “Thank you for always, _ always _ being here, and I trust you with myself, _ a lot _.”

-

_ ‘Jongdae (11:41pm);_

_ so, you know, huh? _

_ though I guess… I don’t mind if it’s you who knows.’ _

_ ‘Inspector Zhang (11:41pm);_

_ If you ever don’t feel like being alone, or if ever you just really, really need someone _

_ I’m always checking my inbox. _

_ Kind of. You get the gist. _

_ You don’t have to be alone anymore.’ _

_ ‘Inspector Zhang (11:48pm);_

_ You’re taking a long time to type.’ _

_ ‘Jongdae (11:49pm);_

_ YOU CAN’T just say things like that! what if someone takes advantage of that! what if someone takes advantage of your kindness, and your—your general, i’ll-listen-to-you-if-you-want-me-to vibes!! it does make you a very nice person, yes, but then people can take advantage of that and when you overdo it, purposefully or not, it ends up weighing down on you, a thing called emotional fatigue. and you don’t deserve that, to feel the weight of others’ burdens, and I don’t want you to ever feel that burden, even if you think your shoulders are pretty free now and you can take a couple more burdens, please don’t ever do that, you might… lose yourself… you shouldn’t ever have to go through… that…’ _

_ ‘Jongdae (11:50pm);_

_ oops _

_ ha. _

_ i. _

_ i mean it though. yeah…’ _

_ ‘Inspector Zhang (11:50pm);_

_ I don’t know about most of that part but I get the gist. _

_ And I guess you’re right.’ _

_ ‘Jongdae (11:51pm);_

_ yeah….. :3 _

_ well not to, ruin the serious, deep vibe we had goin’ on but… :3 _

_ remember when you said you’d pay me back for my help last time? _

_ from our first case? :3’ _

_ ‘Inspector Zhang (11:51pm);_

_ Technically, you were the one who made it so that I’d pay back.’ _

_ ‘Jongdae (11:51pm);_

_ I use my amazing deduction skills to help people out and receive dust for it! I deserve this!’ _

_ ‘Inspector Zhang (11:52pm);_

_ You don’t receive *dust*.. --’ what are you saying. At least, not from what I’ve heard. _

_ But okay. _

_ After all, we had to postpone our dinner date this week since a certain someone unexpectedly got himself stuck with a broken leg, didn’t we?’ _

_ ‘Jongdae (11:55pm);_

_ guh. _

_ dinner date? _

_ I mean _

_ yes. yeah _

_ you didn’t have to mention… that.’ _

_ ‘Inspector Zhang (11:56pm);_

_ That it’s a dinner date?’ _

_ ‘Jongdae (11:57pm);_

_ THAT I BROKE MY LEG _

_ O A O.’ _

_ ‘Inspector Zhang (11:58pm);_

_ ^___^ _

_ Alright. _

_ Next Saturday, 7PM. Place to be confirmed.’ _

_ ‘Jongdae (11:58pm);_

_ that sounds good uwu.’ _

_ ‘Inspector Zhang (11:58pm);_

_ I’ll pick you up from your apartment.’ _

_ ‘Inspector Zhang (12:09am);_

_ Did you fall asleep, Dae?’ _

_ ‘Jongdae (12:10am);_

_ NO _

_ I _

_ YES. _

_ THAT SOUNDS GOOD .. _

_ <__>’ _

_ ‘Inspector Zhang (12:10am);_

_ Haha, okay.’ _

_ ‘Inspector Zhang (12:12am);_

_ ‘By the way. _

_ Do you like me, Jongdae-ah?’ _

_ ‘Jongdae (12:14am);_

_ guh _

_ what?’ _

_ ‘Inspector Zhang (12:14am);_

_ Do you like me, Jongdae-ah? _

_ Do you *like* like me?’ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you get this far? :D Congratulations!
> 
> PSA. It's implied somewhere within the chapters, that something big was supposed to happen. Might happen... might. In the future


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